


For Better, For Worse

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Divorce, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Mr Gold married a lovely young woman called Rose French. Mr and Mrs Gold should have been happy. They were wealthy. She was beautiful. He was powerful. But Mr and Mrs Gold weren't living in a fairytale, and in the the real world, there are no happily ever afters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt for the 6 month anniversary of Rumbelle as a canon pairing :) Rufeepeach, I hope you like it. And don't want to kill me, because goodness knows, this is not a story of sweetness and light.

The ink wasn’t even dry when she snatched the paper from underneath his pen. 

Mark Gold sat back in his seat. It was his work desk in the back of the shop, and he knew damn well why she’d cornered him there. She hated the shop. It was messy and cluttered and completely disorganised in all the ways she couldn’t stand. She could look around at it and remind herself of all the reasons she hated him now.

“Happy now, dearie?”

His soon-to-be-ex-wife’s blue eyes gleamed vindictively. “Perfectly,” she said, folding the divorce papers and slipping them into an envelope. “If you don’t mind moving your stuff out of my house, we’ll be fine.”

Mark scowled at her. “Whose money paid for that house?”

She pushed the envelope into her handbag, and turned a glare on him. “Who was it that trashed the living room? Who was it who threatened my father with the bailiffs? Who kicked me out into the street in my underwear because you thought I was having an affair with Greg across the street?” She leaned over the table. “I deserve something for putting up with all your crap, Mark. Don’t think I’m going to let you ruin everything else, after all the shit I’ve taken for the last three years.”

He propped his elbows on the table and pressed his fingertips together. “Aren’t you forgetting that pre-nuptial arrangement we had in place?” he asked with a dark smile. “As you well know, deals made with me are iron-clad, whether for a client…” He leaned forward with a smirk, “or for the woman stupid enough to think she could change me.”

For a moment, she looked torn between tears and slapping him.

Instead, she just shook her head slowly. “You’re going to regret it, forever,” she warned him. “All you’ll have is that empty house and that hole in your chest where a heart should be.”

“Be that as it may, dear,” he said, drawing out the final word, “it’s my house and it’s going to stay that way.” He waved a hand at her dismissively. “Run along. I don’t have time to be distracted by little girls in a temper.”

She turned and stalked out of the shop, heels clacking on the floor.

Mark Gold folded his hands. 

The grasping little bitch could try and get a lawyer, but when it came to deals with him, Rose Gold didn’t have a leg to stand on. She had signed the pre-nup. She had even read the small print. She wasn’t entitled to a damn thing. He laughed to himself, wondering just how pissed off she would be when she realised that included her whole wardrobe.

 

________________________________________

 

“You bastard! You fucking bastard!”

Gold drew aside one of the curtains to watch his ex-wife being dragged down the garden path, fighting every step of the way. The locks being changed had been enough to set her off, but the icing on the cake was the fact that she tried to break her way in.

“My things are in there!” she screamed.

Mark pushed the window up enough to lean out. “I’m afraid you didn’t pay enough attention to the paperwork, dear,” he said. “Any assets accrued and paid for by my money from the beginning of our courtship until the day you waved your papers in my face are legally mine. I have all the receipts.”

Rose kicked the Sheriff in the shin and lunged down, scooping a thick handful of mud, hurling it at Gold. It splattered the window above him, but he drew back quickly enough that he dodged the worst of it.

“I paid for my stuff myself!” she screamed. “You son of a bitch!”

“Remind me, dearie,” he called, as the Sheriff caught her by the arms, speaking to her quietly, no doubt trying to reason with her, calm her. “Who gave you your credit card?”

Her eyes widened. She had thought herself so clever to insist that she had her own credit card, but all the paperwork and documentation had been done in his name. She wasn’t to know that, of course, but what kind of husband allows his wife autonomy to do as she wanted?

The litany of profanities that rolled off her pretty tongue were colourful and many of them he wasn’t even sure were real. Anything that he didn’t understand, she had always claimed was slang from ‘back home’. A country she had left when she was twelve years old.

It was too easy to patronise her when she was clearly as foolish as she was beautiful. 

That was one thing he couldn’t deny: his wife had dazzled him with her smiles, her bright eyes, her laughter, her tumbling dark hair. It was just a shame that she was as selfish as a cat and just as demanding.

“You want her charged, Mr Gold?” Sheriff Graham called up to him.

Mark Gold smiled. “Of course,” he said. “I’m fairly sure I can put together a concise list of charges to be brought.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Graham said with a touch of reproach in his voice. 

Gold waved his hand as his fuming and cursing wife. “Have a nice ride, dearie.”

She made a crude gesture and he chuckled and closed the window.

 

_________________________________________________

 

Mark Gold didn’t go out a lot. 

Most people avoided him like the plague, even though he owned them and if he wanted to find them, he would damn well find them. He wasn’t a big admirer of people as a whole, all grasping and greedy. They hated him, but they still came crawling to him when they needed something that no one else would give them.

His wife was one of those kinds of people.

Her father had debts with him, and Rose had tried to seduce the debts out from under him in a mini-skirt and low-cut dress. 

At least, he let her believe that was what she was doing, because it never hurt to have a pretty girl warming his bed, obliged to be there by a band of gold on her finger and a piece of paper that was just another deal. 

She figured that she shagged him enough to get him to marry her, so that would be enough to make him forget all about dear old Pa French, and just how much debt he was in. Just because French’s daughter was a slag who thought she could whore herself to pay her dear old dad’s debts didn’t mean Gold saw it that way.

Mark Gold never forgot a debt.

His own mother had always told him he was as tight as a duck’s arse, and coming from a woman who collected pennies she found on the pavement in a jar on the kitchen bench, that was the height of compliments. She’d never been more proud of him than when he bought their bastard of a landlord’s house out from underneath him.

He didn’t need to write down any of his business transactions. If anyone came to him, he made sure to talk to them long enough to memorise their face, their name, and exactly how desperate they were. He had a long memory, and he never let anyone get away without paying what they owed.

Poor old Pa French was more than a little surprised to get a visit from his ex son-in-law. Pa French was even more surprised by the eviction notice, to say nothing of the final demands for the loan that he had taken to pay for his van. Pa French begged and pleaded and Gold knew he could have had the useless bastard licking his shoes clean.

“A debt is outstanding,” was all he said, before turning and walking away.

Rose was coming up the front path just as he was leaving.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Your father and I had unfinished business, dearie,” he replied, smiling. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over.” He walked passed her and heard her indrawn breath when she saw the second eviction notice tacked to the door. 

“You son of a bitch,” she snarled, storming towards his retreating back.

“Temper temper, dearie,” he called over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t want to end up in jail again, would you?”

That stopped her dead and his lips twitched. It was such a pleasure to break her completely.

He considered his next stop and nodded to himself. The Lucas woman was due the monthly payment, and it was close enough to stop by. He was amused to see a little yellow bug parked outside. So they had guests, did they? Maybe the rates should be raised.

Gold ascended the steps and opened the door. 

“Swan,” a woman said, “Emma Swan.”

Gold stopped dead in his tracks. A door had been flung wide in his mind. “Emma,” he echoed. The woman, a stranger, turned to face him. Emma. The child, the Saviour, the breaker of the curse. “What a lovely name.”

Some fifteen minutes later, he was glad that the streets were quiet because no one saw him fold down onto a bench and throw up. No one saw him go white as a sheet, sweat beading his brow. No one saw his face the moment he realised just what the hell he had done to the woman he loved more then life itself.

 

_____________________________________________

 

Rose - Belle - ran her father’s secondary stall on weekends.

She smiled and chatted to customers and looked all sunshine and light. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach, knowing what he had done to the poor girl. 

All she had done, again, was try and save her father. She had no value to him when she was Mrs Gold. She was just something to decorate his house like one of his antiquities, only this was one possession he had used shamelessly. She had lain on her back and let him do whatever he wanted, believing she was saving her father, and all the while Mark Gold was just enjoying sex that didn’t need to be paid for.

Regina had made his Belle, his pure and loving and gentle Belle, into a cipher of her own abusive snare of a marriage. She had been bought and sold like meat to the first King that Cora could find. It was all because Rumpelstiltskin had played a part in her mother gaining power, and so this was her revenge: Belle was the Regina to his Leopold. 

She had twisted them well, both of them, and he had done such terrible things.

Regina lied about Belle’s fate, but she was right about one thing: they were cruel to her.

He saw the moment she saw him standing there. 

For the first time, he saw his Belle, alive and unscathed and just as perfect as he remembered her being, but she was glaring at him with such loathing and contempt that he almost turned and walked away. He would have if she hadn’t stalked towards him, crossing the street, a pair of pruning shears gripped in her hand like a dagger.

“You can fuck right the hell off,” she said. “The stall isn’t leverage or of any value.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her. It felt like he was watching another world go by, just out of his reach. 

If anything, that only made her angrier. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“I wanted to see you, dearie,” he said before he could stop himself.

She scowled at him. “What? So you could get a restraining order against me? Wasn’t getting me community service and ten days in jail enough, you bastard?” A disgusted look crossed her face. “Or did you think you could come around and I would be so desperate to save dad’s house that I would fuck you?”

Rumpelstiltskin flinched. He remembered, to his sick horror, an occasion when he demanded a bill of payment, and she had begged off for a week because of bad sales. Mark Gold fenced her in against the stall, cupping her backside and squeezing. “We can come to some arrangement,” he remembered saying. She had slapped him then.

Less than a month later, she had come to his shop, showing almost all the flesh she had, and he got what he wanted. She hated him then, but when he stopped calling in the debts, she started to sweeten up. There was a time when she had liked him enough to marry him.

“I didn’t come here for sex,” he said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “I came to apologise.”

“Apologise?” She stared at him, then started laughing. It wasn’t amusement. It was bitter and painful and more terrible than seeing her crying. “Apologise. Right. Apologise for being a fucking wanker who didn’t just rob me of everything I owned, but left me and my dad on the street with the added bonus of being your cast off?” She stalked closer, pressing the shears to his chest. “Do you know what they call me, Mark? Tart of fucking Gold. Isn’t that hi-fucking-larious?”

Rumpelstiltskin wanted to weep, to fall to his knees, to grovel at her feet, but his mind and body failed him. Belle, the one person who deserved heaven, had been cast into the worst kind of hell because of him.

All he could do was stare helplessly at her.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said in a whisper. 

Her lips pulled back from her teeth and she snapped the clipper, lopping a button off his shirt. “Fuck you, Mark.”

 

_____________________________________________

 

He didn’t dare approach again, not at once.

There was so much going on. The Saviour was in town. The Queen was paranoid about her and trying to get rid of her. The woman he loved was less than a mile away and he couldn’t go anywhere near her because she hated him.

What little he could do, he did. 

The French house was taken off the market. It would never have been sold anyway. He made sure Belle. No. Rose. She wasn’t Belle. Belle wasn’t broken, not like that. He made sure she was elsewhere when he went and returned the deeds to French. The man looked pale and terrified. When he looked at the papers, it was if he had never seen such a thing before.

“What is this?”

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t meet his eyes. “The house is yours,” he said. “The foreclosure was a banking error. Your debts have been rearranged, so you can keep the house.” He lifted his eyes. “You’ll need to be more careful, French. Errors don’t happen often.”

French nodded wildly, too grateful to refuse, to terrified to question it.

Rose, thought, wasn’t so naïve.

She crashed into his shop like a tempest, the paperwork in her hand.

“What the hell are you playing at?” she demanded. “Is this just some game? You threaten to take the house and now, you give it back?”

He was grateful that the counter was between them. His hands were resting on the edge of it, the glass cool against his palms. It was enough to hide the tremors. “There’s no trick, dearie,” he said. “A mistake had been made.”

“A mistake, huh? What mistake?”

“Accounts, transfers, some nonsense or other.”

Her eyes bored into him. “Bullshit.” She held the paper out like a blade. “If you’re going to try and drive my dad into an early grave by scaring the hell out of him with threats and bullying, I swear to God I’ll pour gas through your door and burn you where you sleep.”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed hard, darting his tongue along his lower lip. “I wanted to make amends,” he said. “I can’t excuse the way I treated you when we were married. Or what I’ve done since.” He looked down at his hands. “There’s no ulterior motive.” He traced a circle on the glass with his thumb. “Just make sure your father keeps on top of the payments for the loan, and we won’t have any more problems.”

“Yeah, right,” Rose said grimly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

She stormed out and slammed the door so hard that the bell snapped and clattered to the ground. Rumpelstiltskin looked at it dully. The symbolism wasn’t lost on him.


	2. Chapter 2

It was difficult to put Rose from his mind, to focus on the Saviour and the curse, especially with Snow White's Prince awakening. Rumpelstiltskin clung to his first motivation, the one person he was working to find, but no matter how he tried, she kept creeping up in his memories.

Rumpelstiltskin wanted nothing more than to see her, even from a distance, but knowing how distressed it made her, he stayed away. Instead, he arranged for her possessions to be returned to her. He had told her they were destroyed, before. It was crueller than simply taking them from her. It was also a lie, all of the items lying where they had the day he had changed the locks. He even included the jewellery he had given her.

While he had used the pre-nup to rob her blind, he could make contracts dance to his tune. Now, when he said that anything she had bought, she could keep, he acknowledged the fact that while the credit card was registered under his name, she was the one who paid it off with her own money. It was all a matter of wording.

It wasn't much, but it was a start at making amends.

Sometimes, they saw one another in town. She would never approach him, and the suspicion was palpable. He didn't make any move to initiate contact, knowing it would only antagonise her. All he could do was show her that he wasn't the same person and hope that she could forgive him.

The trouble was that as well as he was behaving towards her, other matters were taking precedence. Ashley Boyd's baby was due, and a deal was a deal. Such matters couldn't be brushed under the carpet. He was surprised when the girl took the initiative to break into his shop, and he had hoped for discretion when he went to Miss Swan.

It seemed that was not to be the case.

She barged into the diner, where Rose worked, on her search.

He knew the whispers around town were as scathing about Miss Boyd as they were about Rose herself. Rose's defence of the girl was common knowledge, and he wasn't the first to have heard the snide whispers that suggested a collection of loose women should be called a brothel of whores.

Even if Emma didn't mention why she was seeking Ashley, Rose would know who was really looking for the girl. She'd torn him a new one when she heard about the deal that Sean's father had arranged. He had smirked and told her that she and her friends should learn to keep their legs closed and they wouldn't have so many problem.

That was one of the few times she had actually slapped him: it wasn't for the insult to her. It was for the slight to Ashley. She always did care more for others than herself.

He didn't have a choice about keeping the deal. That was how his magic had and always would work. The contract had been signed. The girl and her child were bound to him.

Word reached him when the girl was sighted at the hospital, delivered there by Miss Swan. By the time he got there, Rose was waiting. She was pacing, and when he entered the waiting area, she turned on like a maddened cat, eyes ablaze, teeth bared. 

"Get out of here!"

"I'm sorry, dearie," he said, meeting her eyes, "but this is no concern of yours."

"The hell it's not," she snapped, right in his face. "You know she didn't have a choice about signing that contract."

He looked at her, the woman who had stood before him and promised forever. "Everyone has a choice," he said quietly. "Nobody chose her fate but her."

Rose ground her teeth. "This is her child, Mark. I won't let you take it."

"Would it be so cruel to give the child a chance to have a safe and reliable upbringing?" he challenged. "You know Miss Boyd well enough. The girl can barely take care of herself. How do you imagine she'll be able to raise a child?"

"Oh, don't try and make yourself the hero in this," she snapped, ramming her hands against his chest. "Get out!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Emma appeared from one of the wards, catching Rose by the arms and hauling her back. "Easy. Yelling won't help here, not when Ashley needs you with her. Leave him be."

"Of course you'd side with the son of a bitch who pays you," Rose snapped, jerking her arm free. She narrowed her eyes at Rumpelstiltskin. "You take that child and you'll regret it."

He looked at her placidly, even though his heart ached. "There are many things I regret," he murmured.

She swore colourfully, then stalked off towards the maternity suite.

"So that's the ex-Mrs Gold, huh?" Emma said, looking after her, then back at Rumpelstiltskin. "Gotta say I agree with her." She put her hands on her hips. "I know why you're here, and I can tell you one thing straight. You're not taking that kid."

"Paperwork was signed, Miss Swan," Rumpelstiltskin replied. He was amazed his voice was steady. Rose's fury and distress was like a knife-blade, cutting him to the core. Regina's attention to detail was unmatched: not only would they be miserable in Storybrooke, but if and when the curse broke, they would be miserable in their reunion, knowing just how much they had hurt one another, and how much their false marriage was based on truth.

"Screw the paperwork," she said coolly. "What'll take to let her keep the kid?"

He looked at her, then smiled. "Let's say you'll owe me a favour," he suggested.

"That's it?"

He shrugged carefully, trying to hide his relief. Having the Saviour owe him would be more useful than she knew. "I didn't say what the favour would be," he said. "Do we have a deal?"

She nodded curtly. "Deal," she said, then turned and prowled away. Young Henry Mills rose from the chairs, where he had been sitting unnoticed. He looked at Rumpelstiltskin suspiciously, then scurried after his mother. 

Rumpelstiltskin let a breath out slowly.

He had no say when the curse would be broken, but the sooner the better.

 

 

_______________________________________

 

 

Storybrooke had a new deputy.

The Mayor - their beloathed Queen - was growing uneasy.

Rumpelstiltskin was keeping a close eye on her, and knew she was keeping a watch on him. 

When they last spoke, when he tested to see if their last deal before the curse was still holding, he knew he had caused a flicker of fear. It was true that his wording could have been coincidental, but Regina would not have forgotten. If she suspected that he remembered, she would be watching for a slip of the mask, a crack in the facade. 

If it became common knowledge that Mark Gold was being civil to his wife, then that would raise a flag that something was amiss. He had explained away the return of her possessions and the release of their house as technicalities in paperwork. The fact he and his wife were not screaming at one another in the street was down to the fact that he didn't go where she worked anymore, and she wouldn't approach him with a ten-foot pole.

He tended to stay in his shop when he could. It was a useful excuse, as there was always someone in need of some kind of assistance.

All the same, it was a surprise when none other than the Mayor walked in the door.

Rumpelstiltskin drew on the mask of Mark Gold. It was easy, really. All he had to do was act like a proverbial slimeball. Regina had layered her memories of her own husband into his persona, although he couldn't help noticing that they had twisted with bitterness and time. 

Leopold had been a smug, self-righteous fool with a dangerous possessive streak, but Rumpelstiltskin doubted he was as lecherous and domineering as Regina seemed to remember. Then again, he had never been present in the marital bed, for which he was eternally grateful. 

If it was anything like his affair with Rose, he could have almost pitied her.

"Regina, dear," he said, smiling. "What brings you to my humble shop?"

She approached the counter, watching him intently. "I just thought I would stop by," she said. "We hardly seem to see you out and about in town anymore. Surely you can't be hiding from your wife."

"Ex-wife," he said as casually has he could. "I'm available once more." His mouth curved and though the very idea disgusted him, he let his eyes flick over her. "How can I help you?"

Regina looked momentarily surprised, then smiled. "And here I thought you were being a coward," she said. It was tempting to swing the cane, stove her face in. "I heard she was seeing that lovely young Greg. Handsome fellow, they say. Big."

He knew she was baiting him. Gold didn't like to share his toys, even the toys he wasn't playing with anymore. "He wouldn't have her, even if she begged," he said with a sneer. "The boy's afraid of grown men, especially grown men who are their landlords." He smiled thinly. "Rose isn't allowed to play with others. She just doesn't know it yet."

Regina laughed. "You keep her on a short leash."

He walked around the counter. "Isn't that the way to make a woman behave?" he said, picking up a handful of paperwork from one of the displays and setting it on the counter. He rested his hand on the glass and looked at her. "But I don't think you came here just to make inquiries about my love-life."

"No," she agreed. "You never answered my question about Miss Swan."

He smiled inwardly. She had to be very worried to ask again. "What of it?"

"Who is she, Gold?"

He shrugged. "Like I said, you think you know," he replied. "A perfect little tart who got herself in trouble before she even hit eighteen." He put his head to one side. "She looks like she'd be a goer, doesn't she? I imagine it would be like trying to shag a tiger, all teeth and nails."

Regina's eyes darkened, a shadow of hatred for a man long gone. "You're a pig, Gold."

It was probably going too far, but just for the look on her face, he smacked her firmly on the backside. "And you're just a little woman who managed to screw her way into power," he said. "If you ever fancy a go, I've been wondering about trying a more... experienced woman."

She didn't slap him, which was admirably restrained of her, but she went white with fury. "You touch me again, and you won't be able to walk straight for a month."

He let his eyes drift down her body, then back. "Well, if you ever change your mind, dearie," he said. "You look like you could do with a good seeing to."

He had never seen her leave a building faster or more angrily.

Rumpelstiltskin shuddered. 

He could freely admit that he had never been the most courteous of men, but when he had been a man, he had not been a cruel or predatory one. It felt like he had pulled on a soiled coat and a layer of the filth was still clinging to him, even though the coat had gone.

He hoped it would be enough to keep Regina away from him.

Given her expression as she left, he suspected it would.

 

_______________________________________________

 

 

While little seemed to be changing in Storybrooke, Rumpelstiltskin could see the ripples. He had lived too long to ignore even the slightest flicker on the surface. Emma Swan was causing friction between the Sheriff and the Mayor. True love was battling to emerge between Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan. Hopper had rediscovered his long lost conscience. 

And Rose...

Rose seemed happier, on the few occasions that he saw her in passing. 

Her father kept on top of the payments, but Rumpelstiltskin knew that was only because she was working herself to the bone to make sure they had enough to live on as well. French sent the payments in by cheque, and Rumpelstiltskin knew that was to give him a few extra days. He could have complained and demanded immediate payment, but Rose was happier. He didn't want to ruin that.

He passed her in the street one afternoon, and to his surprise she offered him a curt nod. It was more than he had expected, but still less than he longed for. All the same, he could only return it with a brief nod of his own.

It was too much to hope that things would change gently. The subtle shifts were the loose rocks that came before the landslide.

The Sheriff died.

It was as unexpected as it was horrifying. 

Rumpelstiltskin knew that the Sheriff and Rose always had got along well. He had arrested her too many times, and they ended up friends because of it. 

It was muttered that the Sheriff probably liked having the French girl locked up to use his cuffs and baton on her. The rumour circulated through town, tarnishing Rose's reputation even further, but Graham was a decent man. He watched out for Rose in a way no one else did. He was probably one of the few friends she did have in town who didn't believe all the stories.

As a mark of respect, Rumpelstiltskin went to the funeral and to his fury, he saw the Rose was forced to stay tucked away at the back. Her face was chalk white, her eyes swollen and red. She was wearing dark colours, a skirt and simple top, but they weren't black. 

Rose didn't own a single black piece of clothing, and she was so broke, she couldn't even afford something for her friend's funeral. Only the coat draped around her was black. It was threadbare at the elbows and cuffs, and was obviously her father’s. It drowned her, and she looked like a child who had lost her friend.

He couldn't help approaching her after the casket was laid in the ground, even though the Mayor might see them. Rose was clasping a wilting bunch of flowers, staring blankly at the grave, tears shining on her face.

Wordlessly, Rumpelstiltskin pulled his kerchief from his breast pocket and held it out to her.

She jolted, startled, and looked at the kerchief then him. "Not today," she pleaded, her voice breaking.

"I wanted to offer my condolences," he said. "I know you were friends." He offered the handkerchief again. "You need this more than I do."

She took it and scrubbed at her face. As slight and fragile as she appeared, there was nothing delicate about her when she was distressed. "You hated him," she said, her voice hoarse. 

"I didn't care enough to hate him," he corrected quietly. "He was a good man. Honourable."

"Like you could tell," she muttered, but it lacked the usual venom. She blew her nose wetly, and used a corner of the handkerchief to wipe at her eyes again. Before he could object, she pushed the damp, sticky cloth back into the pocket of his jacket. "Thank you."

He looked down at the mess. "I will treasure it always," he said wryly.

He wasn't sure who was more surprised when she laughed. It was barely more than a choked cough of a sound, but it was a thousand times better than loathing. 

The moment passed and she ducked her head. "I need to get back," she said. "Doing backshift." She stepped around him to go to the grave and crouched to lay her flowers. He saw her lips move, bidding farewell to the dead and he turned away. 

Some matters were best grieved for alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Emma Swan, Sheriff.

It didn't have the same ring as 'Saviour', but it was someone standing against Regina, someone she couldn't control.

The only trouble with rigging an election was that he had to damage his own reputation to do so. Rose, no longer so hostile towards him, turned to ice when his part in the fire was revealed. She was in the hall on the day of the debate, and he saw the look of sickened horror on her face.

He could hardly explain that he knew that Emma was just the kind of person to save anyone who was trapped in the building, to say nothing of the fire being carefully managed to ensure that no one would be in any real danger. Even if he wanted to, showing his cards would achieve nothing.

The curse-dulled minds of the folk of Storybrooke had to believe she had stood against him. If it was revealed that their dear Saviour had been played by the very man she had stood up to, it would ruin what credibility she had gained.

It was masochism of the worst kind that took him to Granny's diner on a quiet afternoon, when he knew she would be working. She should have been in a better job, somewhere that appreciated her quick mind, rather than reducing her to service all over. She enjoyed it for the most part, except when people reminded her of her association with him.

Walking in the door was quite the reminder.

There were only a couple of customers in, including Leroy, who was brooding over a coffee instead of alcohol for once. When Rose swore, Leroy turned on his stool and looked at Gold, a glower furrowing his brow.

"Want me to kick him out?" he said. "No charge for that, sister."

"You don't need to get yourself in trouble," she said, her eyes meeting Rumpelstiltskin's. She was trying for calm, but she was wringing a dishtowel between her hands, her knuckles white. "I knew he'd come by." She walked to the open end of the counter, stepped around it. "What do you want, Mark?"

"Can we speak privately?" he asked. He could feel Leroy's eyes on him under the bushy brows. 

"Why?" she asked. "Everyone knows what you did. Everyone knows you set the fire. Everyone knows you're a ruthless son of a bitch, who would have let them burn just to make a point."

Every word was like a hammer blow.

He folded his hands over one another on the handle of his cane, glad he had thought to put on his gloves to hide the tremor. "I want to talk to you, dearie," he said, "that's all. What I am and what I am willing to do is nothing to do with this. It's a... personal matter."

He hated the way she paled, the way she swayed as if she might fall. She was afraid. She was afraid he was going to do something worse than the election. She was afraid, and that was wrong and terrible, because Belle was the bravest person he had ever met. 

"Granny?" she called through to the kitchen. "Can I have five minutes?"

The response was an assent, and she stalked passed him, out of the dinner and around the corner into the alley between the diner and the next building. She pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her back pocket, fumbling with her lighter. 

"Fuck!" she whispered as the lighter sparked and sputtered.

"Here. Let me." 

Rumpelstiltskin took the lighter from her hands, flicking out a flame, and she drew - still trembling - on the cigarette. Her hands were shaking. She folded one arm across her middle, cupping the elbow of the other, and stared at him with wide-eyed trepidation.

"What do you want, Mark?" she asked again, the aggressiveness from the diner all but gone, fear in its place. It broke his heart all over again. "Dad's giving you all we can afford." She looked at him, suddenly wary. "You've found another loophole, haven't you?" Her eyes brightened with panicked tears. "You can't take it all away again! God damn you! Haven't you fucked up my life enough?"

"No!" The word came out so sharply. She flinched back and he held up a hand soothingly, realising she had misunderstood. "No, dearie. I meant no, I'm not going to take it away.”

She sagged back against the wall, and for the first time, she looked truly broken. “Then why won’t you just leave me alone?” she asked in a whisper. “Why do you keep on coming and making me feel like crap? Do you enjoy it? Was that why you married me? To fuck with me whenever you liked?”

“Rose…” He tried to speak, to say something, to be comforting, to do anything that wasn’t just standing there and watching her fight against tears. Mark Gold’s reasons for marrying her were just that: he wanted to make her his plaything, and make it binding. It hurt because he couldn’t deny it.

She drew hard on the cigarette, the blew the smoke out in a violent plume. It seemed to calm her a little. “What?” she asked, straightening up and smoothing her apron down. “I know you’re not here for a quick one against the wall, so what?”

“I wanted to apologise,” he said.

She looked at him doubtfully. “This again?”

He lifted his shoulders. His eyes were on his hands on the cane, but he forced himself to look up and meet her gaze. “I was a bastard,” he said. “I treated you badly, and you deserve much better than I ever gave you.”

“You got that right,” she said, folding her arms tightly over her chest. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s brought on this sudden attack of conscience? Was it before or after your little spell as an arsonist?”

He shook his head. “I realised how lucky I was to have you.” He knew it was a mistake when he added, “I miss you.”

She stared at him, and took a step closer. He could smell her perfume mingled with the lingering scent of her cigarettes. “You,” she said, her voice strange and flat, “are a sick fuck. I know this game, remember? Mr Slimeball plays the Gentleman, all manners and charm, and so I marry him, because hey! He may have been a bastard, but he’s better now.” She leaned closer, rising on her toes to snarl into his face. “You don’t change. You made that fucking clear the night you locked me in the basement. So don’t come and play Mr Nice-Guy, like you haven’t done it before.”

He felt dizzy with the echoes of the past washing over him.

That expression. That tone. That burning passion in her eyes.

“I’m trying, dearie,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion, “and I am truly, truly sorry.”

She glared at him, her face so close to his that he could have kissed her, but if he had, he knew he would be folded on the sidewalk before he had time to draw breath. She looked angrier than he had ever seen her.

“If you’re sorry,” she whispered, the tip of her nose almost touching his, “then leave my father alone. No more bullshit. No more excuses just to scare the hell out of him. He’ll pay you back and you’ll leave him alone. I won’t let you give him a heart attack.”

My family, my friends, they will all live.

By the Gods, she was trying to break him, and she was succeeding.

“Deal,” he rasped.

 

___________________________________________

 

It was a deal.

That made matters simpler.

Moe French was not harassed or spoken to in person. When a payment was delayed, a polite invoice was issued, and the payment would usually be delivered by Rose herself. They didn’t say more than the most basic of greetings on those occasions, but she wasn’t looking at him with complete contempt.

Once, the cheques got mixed up and Rumpelstiltskin found him looking at the cheque for the flower wholesaler that French used. He delayed sending the invoice for two days, and had to admit it was a childish plot, but it worked.

Rose came in on her lunch break. She looked tired, but when she saw him, she managed a brief, rueful smile. “Dad had a phone call this morning,” she said. “Something about a cheque for the wrong person. Looks like they got yours by mistake.”

He inclined his head. “I did wonder if I was misreading your father’s chicken-scratchings,” he said. He reached under the counter, withdrawing one of the cashboxes he stored there, and took out her father’s cheque. “I assume you have the correct one?”

She pulled a neatly-folded cheque from her pocket and approached to set it on the counter. “You didn’t send dad an invoice,” she observed quietly. “You normally would send it straight away.”

“We had a deal, dearie,” he murmured, sliding the other check across the glass counter towards her. “I’m trying to improve my behaviour. I thought a day or two’s leeway was permissible. After all, he did try to send a cheque. The intent was there.”

Surprise crossed her face, and for a moment, she looked less tired. “Well,” she said, “thank you. It’s appreciated. Dad was worried sick when they phoned and he realised.”

“And yet, it’s you who comes in? Isn’t that a little cowardly of him?”

Blue eyes met his. “He’s afraid of what you’ll do to him,” she said simply. “I’m not.”

That surprised him. “You’re not?”

For a moment, the smile softened her features. “I feel a lot of things for you, Mark,” she said, “but never fear.” She studied him and it took all his self-control not to fidget under her scrutiny. “What’s your game? What is it you really want? Why all this good-behaviour?”

He knew she would sneer, mock, disbelieve, if he spoke truly.

“Because you were right,” he said. “All I have is that empty house. I don’t want to end up with nothing more than that house and trinkets that fill it.” He drummed his fingertips on the counter uncertainly. “You’ve seen me at my worst. You’re the person who can tell me if I’m ever going to be more than a selfish, worthless bastard.”

She almost laughed, nodded. “You have that right,” she said, picking up the cheque for the wholesaler. She turned it over in her hands, looking at him. “You’re…” She looked down then up at him again. “You’re doing better.” The smile that crossed her face was tragic. “You didn’t make me suck you off to get the cheque back. That’s definite progress.”

Rumpelstiltskin wanted to weep. “Rose…”

“Don’t,” she said quietly, raising a hand. It hovered level with her chest, trembled. “Sorry is just a word. An apology is just sound.” She took a breath, tiny and shivering but enough to shake her whole body. “If you want me to believe you’re a better man, then you have to show me.” Her eyes were bright, and he wanted to reach out to her. “Don’t play with me anymore. If this is just a game, please let me go.”

“It’s no game,” he said, his own voice hoarse. “Rose, I promise.”

She shook her head again. “No words,” she said, slipping the cheque into her pocket. She met his eyes and he tried to will her tears away. “Show me.”

He nodded, unable to speak.

She turned around and walked away, and all that he could think was that this woman, this bold, beautiful remarkable woman would come back to him, after all he’d done, simply to help him to be a better person.

 

________________________________________________

 

The Queen was growing suspicious of all and everything. 

Rumpelstiltskin knew she would suspect his complicit behaviour during the election, but he had dismissed it, insisting that it was just a way to lure Miss Swan into his bed. 

After all, he said, what better way to celebrate her victory than by repaying the man who helped her win. Regina snorted and said clearly his assistance had not been needed or wanted after all. Miss Swan, she declared, at least had some semblance of taste and would not stoop to the likes of him.

The Sheriff never saw the persona Regina had crafted for him.

While she condemned him for his manipulation of the election and regarding the Boyd affair, she knew he was useful enough to speak to. Once or twice, she even came to him for information in the course of a case, even if she maintained a neutral tone and stern expression.

She was a clear combination of her parents, with her father's sense of justice and fair play, but her mother's fire and determination. Rumpelstiltskin could even see the resemblance to her mother in her features, and wondered if Regina recalled his last warning before the curse was cast: No matter how powerful, all curses can be broken. 

The child was always the key.

The child had turned into a woman who was the opposite of Regina: while Regina had sacrificed unconditional love in her need for revenge, Emma Swan was a woman who had never had love to begin with. Rumpelstiltskin suspected that when she realised how much she cared for her child and the woman who was her mother, she would never, ever let it go. 

The trouble was that Emma had spent too many years alone. 

Rumpelstiltskin recognised the look of someone who did not want to be vulnerable for fear of being hurt. For centuries, he had closed himself away, caring for nothing and no one, and only looking for his child. Now, this woman who had been alone for so long, who had spent her life hunting for her family, was holding up a mirror to him.

He knew she could love. He had seen her face at Graham's funeral. He saw her expression when she realised she could take Graham's place and remember him that way. 

Rumpelstiltskin had seen the echoes of his own existence in the woman: when someone wandered into her life, bold enough to speak back at her and pursue her, she had let a little chink in her armour open up. 

True love was the matter.

True love had the power to break any curse.

How much more powerful, then, would be the true love of a child born of the purest and truest love in all the realm?

The trouble was that Regina's eyes were fixed on her enemies. Rumpelstiltskin knew she was always watching him. He was the curse-creator. He was the one being who had been more powerful than her when it came to the darkest of magics. She was paranoid that he might break free, and rightfully so.

She knew his weakness as well, and so he did what he had to, to ensure that Regina remained unaware.

He never approached Rose, not without just cause and never with witnesses. If she came to his shop to pay a bill, then he could speak to her as he pleased. He did not unleash Mark Gold anymore for anyone except Regina herself. No one else deserved that particular treat.

It was enough, he hoped, to maintain the smokescreen. As long as he stayed away from Rose, he knew he could maintain the pretence.


	4. Chapter 4

It was not an easy task, to keep himself from his true love. 

Rumpelstiltskin decided that Valentine's Day was encouraged in Storybrooke by Regina herself, as a means of tormenting any of the residents who had no one. She lorded over everyone with her precious and beloved son, but for those who were alone, the festival was salt in an open wound.

Pink displays sprang up all over town, with hearts and gormless cupids beaming all around.

He tended to stay in his own shop more than ever, rather than facing such things and being reminded of the loved one he had driven away before, and then again when the curse was still hooked into his mind. 

It was true that Rose was more tolerant now.

If he ventured into the diner, she would even serve him without a cutting remark. It wasn't service quite with a smile, but it was without vitriol. The suspicion was still there, and he couldn't blame her for that. Mark Gold had spoiled her with gifts and meaningless treasures when he decided to make her his permanent plaything, but Mark Gold was fickle and had a temper. His amusement didn’t last, so he had taken to entertaining himself by teasing and bullying her, to see just how much she would take before she broke.

The only saving grace was that he had never physically hurt her. 

Rumpelstiltskin knew he would never have been able to look her in the eye again, if he had raised his hand to her. It was bad enough that he had tormented her with words and legal action. He had been a lecherous pig of a man, taking what he wanted and never caring about her feelings.

To make it worse, she was also alone for Valentine's day.

It was true that seeing her with someone would have hurt, but seeing her alone and rejected was just as bad. She deserved all the love in the world. 

That was what led him to the door of the French house. He sat in his car outside. The downstairs window was lit and he could see Rose inside, walking this way and that. She had a baby in her arms. Ashley Boyd's little Alexandra. A lump rose in his throat. If the world had been fair, she would have been happy and a mother herself. He could see her patiently teaching a little one to read, or bake, or fingerpaint. 

He forced himself from the car.

Even if he wasn't able to speak to her, to have a moment with her, she would have a Valentine gift. 

He walked down the path as quickly as he could, the bundle under his arm. It was fortunate that it was a dry night, he thought, as he set his burden down on the step. It would have been a shame for the books to be damaged. They were old editions, but perfectly restored, and he knew they were some of Rose's favourites. He had tied them together with a ribbon which also secured the single red rose on the top of the pile.

It wasn't much, but he knew it was something she would like.

He started back towards his car, but only got four steps before the door opened. The warm light from the front door cast a long shadow ahead of him.

"Mark?"

He paused, turned. She was framed in the doorway, Alexandra cradled against her chest. Her hair was loose and her feet bare. He had never seen her look more lovely. "Good evening, Rose."

She looked down at the step, then back at him. He could see the wariness in her eyes as she crouched down and picked up his gift in her free hand. The baby burbled, small hands waving, tangling in Rose's hair. "What's this?" Rose asked, looking at him.

He twisted the handle of the cane between his hands. "A gift."

"The ribbon told me that much," she said quietly. "Why?"

"It seemed unfair that you would do without on Valentine's day," he said, forcing his eyes to hers. She looked bewildered, a little lost, weighing the books in her hand. "I didn't expect to see you."

She was staring at the bundle of books. "There's no name." She shook her head. "You were just going to leave it? Without saying it was from you? I don't understand. What do you want out of this?"

He exhaled quietly. "I didn't want anything," he said. "You deserved a kindness, and I thought it would be better if it was anonymous." He turned the cane in his hand again. "I thought you might find it more acceptable." He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I hope you enjoy them, even knowing the source."

He turned back towards his car.

"Mark," she called after him, her voice small and uncertain. He paused, but didn't turn again. "Thank you."

He smiled briefly, sadly, saw his features reflected in the windows of his car. "You're welcome, Rose."

 

___________________________________________________

 

It was a stupid, stupid mistake.

He knew it the moment Regina walked into the shop the next day.

There was a confidence in her stride, a gleam in her eye, a predatory air that was purely the Queen and certainly not the Mayor. Of course she would have had someone watching him, or if not him, then Rose at the very least.

“Mr Gold,” she purred, a tigress in Dolce and Gabbana.

“Regina.” He closed the accounts ledger and inclined his head. “You’re looking especially sleek today. Come to take up my little offer, have you?”

That was enough to knock a little of the swagger from her step, but she knew that there was something amiss, and he knew that playing the cad wasn’t going to be enough. If she had seen or heard about his encounter with Rose, she would know his façade was just that.

“I think you know why I’m here, Mr Gold,” she said, approaching and leaning on the edge of the counter. “We both know that you’ve been keeping secrets. Don’t you think it’s about time we had a little chat?”

He raised his eyebrows, smiling lazily, though his hand was gripping his cane to the point of bruising. “I can’t imagine that you have anything at all to say that might interest me, dearie,” he said. “I really don’t care about what thoughts are flitting about your pretty little head.”

Her lips tightened, a red gash in her pale face. “Don’t play the fool with me, Gold,” she said quietly. “I know exactly what you are.”

He leaned closer to her, meeting her eyes. “Your opinion doesn’t mean a damn thing to me, dear,” he said.

“Opinion?” she said. “I’m talking about facts. You were seen with your ex-wife, and I heard that you were looking far too friendly. I want to…”

“You can keep wanting,” he replied abruptly. She was the one who had done all this. She was the one who had taken the life he and Belle might have had and poisoned it with her malice. She was the one who meant that Belle was alone now, hating the man she had once chanced to love. “I don’t really fancy mutton dressed as lamb, and since I don’t give a damn about anything you have to say, please take your wrinkly arse and get out of my shop.” 

She bared her teeth like a wild beast, but his power had always exceeded her own, and his deals always outlasted any fancy little fireballs and conjurations she had managed. She turned and stormed from the shop and he breathed in and out, slow and deep.

She could not be killed.

He had to remind himself of that.

Murder in this land had repercussions, but more importantly, the curse may well be sealed by the sacrifice of the caster’s life. He couldn’t risk that, as tempting as it was to beat her down until she was bloody.

He knew why she wanted to know if he remembered. For one thing, it would show that the curse wasn’t as strong as she believed. That much was clear in Snow and her Prince’s ongoing affair. It wasn’t well-known, not yet, but such a relationship couldn’t remain hidden from view forever.

He almost laughed bitterly. The same could be said for his own. He had to avoid Rose. He couldn’t hurt her, not again, not after the promise and the deal he had made with her. To harm her was to harm her father. He couldn’t do that. It was the deal that bound him.

Necessity told him he should, but he clung to the deal.

He could make the words dance as he wished, but not today. 

Her father was not to be troubled or harmed, and his word was his bond. He would not harm Moe French by causing his daughter more distress. It was a deal. That was all. 

 

_______________________________________________

 

Rumpelstiltskin was woken by an urgent battering at the door. 

His first thought was one provided by Mark Gold - the little bitch was back to throw another tantrum about her things. He crushed it down, sickened, and struggled to his feet. For too many years, Mark Gold had controlled his body and his mind, but not anymore.

He pulled on his dressing gown, limped through the house. His knee always ached first thing in the morning, from the enforced inactivity of sleep. 

Regina had given him a house with three levels, and she must have been so amused with herself for putting his bedroom in the vast attic. He had moved down into the guest room on the bottom floor as soon as his memories had returned. Anything to ease the pain in his leg.

Through the coloured glass of the front door, he could see the familiar outline of the Sheriff, and frowned. She seldom came looking for him, not lately anyway, and when he opened the door, her expression was grim. 

“Gold.”

He inclined his head. “Miss Swan?”

She had one thumb hooked through the belt loops of her jeans, and her fingers were curled around the Sheriff’s badge at her belt. “Is Mrs Gold here?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s heart thumped dully. “Here? No. She knows she’s not allowed within a hundred metres of the house, after the last time.” He frowned, and it wasn’t wholly feigned. “Is something wrong?”

The Sheriff’s expression tightened. “When was the last time you saw her?”

He shook his head, a painful tight feeling closing about his heart. Rose. He had left Rose as an open target. Even if he had been avoiding her, if Regina suspected him, then Rose was the very thing to prove she was right. “A few days ago, I think,” he said. “We don’t talk.”

The Sheriff glanced away from him, then back at his face. “She was coming here, two nights ago,” she said, her voice tight. “Her father called in this morning.” She looked back at him again. “Tell me again: when was the last time you saw her?”

Rose.

Belle.

Rumpelstiltskin made a small, desperate sound. No. Not again. He had only just found her, only just got past the grief that had smothered him. He couldn’t lose her, not again. His chest hurt, his heart felt like it was tearing apart, and the pain was lancing down his arm.

“Gold?” Emma’s face was pale. “Gold, you okay?”

He looked at her blankly. It was getting harder to breathe and he pressed a shaking fist to his chest. “Hurts,” he gasped out. He felt the world tilt, and he was falling against the doorframe.

She caught him, held him, set him down. On his side. Side, he noticed. Recovery position. That wasn’t good. He must look bad. He felt the breath catch in his throat as another pain shot through his chest. Floor was patterned in the sun. 

She gripped his shoulder in an iron hold. “Keep breathing, Gold,” she said urgently. “Keep breathing. I’ll get an ambulance.” 

“Rose,” he whispered, clawing blindly for her arm. “Find Rose.”

Maybe she answered. Maybe she didn’t.

His world narrowed to red, then black.


	5. Chapter 5

Something was beeping nearby.

Machine of some kind.

Rumpelstiltskin opened his eyes, squinting. 

The room he was in was small, almost sterile in its cleanliness. The walls were white, the floors grey, and it had the feeling of a cell without being a prison. The scent of disinfectant and chemicals hung over everything. A hospital. That’s the only place it could be.

He tried to breathe in, but his chest ached and he became aware of the oxygen mask over his face. With fumbling hands, he managed to tug it off, letting it fall to the bed, and tried to push aside the bedding. He couldn’t just stay there, not when Rose might be in danger.

Rumpelstiltskin half-slid, half-fell from the bed, and his legs gave out beneath him as one of the monitors started wailing. Doctors and nurses poured in, as if he was dying or something, and he was levered back into the bed. He didn’t have breath or strength to protest. He was weak and useless and Rose didn’t know he was trying to save her. He had failed last time and now, he couldn’t even stand.

He pushed and struggled against the restraining arms, until Doctor Whale caught his shoulders, held him down. “Mr Gold, if you don’t calm down, you’ll have another coronary,” he snapped. “I didn’t bring you back just to have you kill yourself.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s nails sank into the man’s wrist. “Rose?” he rasped. “My wife?”

The Doctor looked down at him. “I don’t know what’s going on there,” he said, not without sympathy and Rumpelstiltskin wanted to rake at the man’s pitying eyes. “I’ll call the Sheriff. She can come and update you.”

Rumpelstiltskin fought to rise again, but his breathing grew ragged and the world narrowed to a pinpoint. He could hear the doctor shouting something, couldn’t quite make it out and felt the mask back over his face, oxygen hissing into his lungs.

Foolish, weak, mortal body.

When his consciousness returned a second time, he did not try to rise or move. His eyes felt like they were weighted closed and it took effort to open them. He wondered if it was drugs in his bloodstream or his heart that was making his head feel hazy. The world was blurred, a face framed by dark hair at his bedside. He almost thought, almost believed…

“Well, you always were a drama queen,” Regina said, her hands resting in her lap, her legs crossed at the knee. “A heart attack? Was that really necessary?”

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t even summon the energy to lift his head. He could only glare balefully at her, trying to gather the breath to speak. “Rose,” he rasped out. Even that left him trembling and breathless. “Where?”

“All in good time,” she said, sitting up and smiling. “We need to have that little chat.”

Of course.

She couldn’t have planned his body’s betrayal, but she would take advantage of it.

“If you want to know if your little plaything is safe,” she said, “I want you to tell me your name.” She leaned closer, dark eyes gleaming. “And don’t even think about being glib. Her life. Your hands." There was poison in her tone. "Dear.”

Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes. The pain in his chest had subsided, but it was still there. He to stay calm, breathe evenly, save her if he could. “Rumpelstiltskin,” he whispered hoarsely.

Emotions warred on her face: satisfaction, relief, terror, consternation. "I thought as much," she said, wrapping her hands around her upper knee. "You almost had me fooled, you know. For someone who was positively frigid, you played the cad surprisingly well."

He said nothing, breathing in slowly and steadily, trying to gather strength to speak.

"I think," she said, watching his face, "it's about time we made a new deal, don't you?" She rose from the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, covering one of his hands with her own. It was a parody of gentleness, her hand squeezing his knuckles until the joints ached. "And if you so much as try to breathe the word please at me, I promise you she will suffer."

A cell would have been more tolerable. A prison. He had been trapped when confronted by her before, but never within the confines of his own treacherous body.

"What deal?" he finally managed to say.

She smiled, all red lips and malice. "I find myself needing your particular skills," she said. "That cunning little brain of yours." Her nails cut into his fingers. "Snow White keeps finding her way back to that farming lout of hers. You're going to help me to keep them apart." She leaned closer to him. "The further they are apart, the safer that precious little bloom of yours will be."

It was too good to be true. He knew she would twist it all about him. 

"The catch?" he rasped.

Her eyes danced with amusement. "So suspicious, Rumpel? I can't imagine why." She lifted her hand to pat his cheek so sharply it was closer to a slap. "You won't go near her, you understand. You'll stay as far from her as possible. Shun her. If she comes to you, dismiss her. I want you alone. I want you to let her go, and I want it to hurt."

He almost whimpered at the thought. He had been alone before. He could be again, but to know she was so close and just out of reach was torture of the bitterest kind. 

Regina laughed quietly. "You've deceived and betrayed me, dear. Why do you think I would have any reason to be kind to you?"

"To her." The words broke from his lips like a whipcrack. "Don't hurt her."

She chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, dear," she said. "I won't." Her face was close to his. "But if you do anything to cross me, anything to betray me again, anything that I can take as a threat or a deception, that will be your responsibility." She curled her finger under his chin. "I can promise not to harm her, but she's a pretty little thing with quite a reputation." She met his eyes coldly. "All I have to do is speak to the right people. You misbehave, and she'll bear the consequences."

Rumpelstiltskin wanted to scream and swear, rage and tear her apart, but the only sound that escaped him was a hoarse, choked groan. The tightness in his chest was building again, agonisingly.

Regina stroked his cheek gently. "Will you do as you're told, Rumpel?" she murmured. "Will you stay away from her, for her own protection? Will you do whatever I ask you to keep her safe? Or would you have me give the word to prompt a tragic accident while she was out walking?"

He looked at her, so wrapped up in hatred that she was happiest when hurting people. "I'll help you," he said slowly, every word a labour, "as long as she's not hurt."

"And you will not approach her," she said. "Don't forget that. Tell me again."

He closed his eyes. He had hoped to side-step that clause. "As long as you and yours do no harm to her, I will do what you ask me and I will not approach her."

She curled her fingers, her nails hooking into his cheek. "I knew we could get along," she said, smiling.

 

_______________________________________________

 

The deal was not the most binding one that Regina could have made.

The magic that was bound up in words was definitely not one of her strengths, and while she had linked him to her, it could have been a lot worse. 

With his wording, he had some leeway, even the margin was uncomfortably narrow. He had managed to avoid utter obedience, which would have been tantamount to suicide. She could have ordered him to hurt Rose with words as she had before, and he would never ever allow that again.

He could stay away from Rose, if it meant that she was safe and unhurt. He could cling to the deal and let it be his restraint.

And all the while, he could quietly undermine the witch. 

She had made a mistake when she did not demand loyalty or to maintain the curse. Perhaps she didn't want him loyal. Perhaps that would be too close to trusting someone for her liking. She preferred fools and slaves to faithful aides. There was less of a risk of becoming too fond of someone.

He gazed blindly at the ceiling, breathing in the oxygen through his mask, slow and deep.

The Sheriff would be his ally now.

She may not know it, and Regina would not believe it, given their publicly known enmity. It amused him that people thought they couldn't stand one another. She was one of the few people in town who he could tolerate for she was the only one who was bold enough to face him.

She arrived at his room shortly after Regina parted. One of the nurses was checking his charts when she appeared in the doorway. She looked drawn, and gave him a curt nod as she stepped into the room. She didn't immediately speak, and he waited until the nurse set down his chart and left the room. Emma closed the door after her.

"You look like hell," she said, approaching the bed.

He knew that was probably true, but that didn't matter. "Rose?" he asked.

The tension in her face told him what he needed to know. "We have search parties out," she said. "It's possible she went for a walk. Her father said she liked to walk in the woods when she'd had a bad day." She dropped into the seat beside his bed. "You scared me there, Gold."

He gazed at her wearily. "Scared that someone heartless could have a heart attack?" he said wryly.

She gave him a stern look. "You know what I mean," she said. "I didn't know you cared so much about her."

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed in a dry throat and darted his tongue over his lips. If he was going to play against Regina, he had to move the pieces and soon. A pawn’s gambit. "I do," he said. "Very much."

She frowned. "Seriously?"

No doubt she had heard all the stories, probably from Moe French.

"I have made mistakes," he said. "I'm working on making amends."

She folded her arms over her chest. "You're gonna have to do a lot more than just give 'em back their house," she said. "People warned me about you, Gold, but no one told me how you treated that girl. Not until her dad came into the station last night."

His teeth clenched together and he nodded. "She deserves far better," he said, then quietly added, "But I came to realise too late what she meant to me."

Emma stared at him. "And you want her back?"

He hesitated. He needed Emma to believe him, and if possible, support him. Honesty was the only way, if he was to convince her that he was not the misogynist bastard that the town still believed him to be. 

"If she would have me," he said, "but if not, I would settle for earning her forgiveness."

The Sheriff leaned back in her chair. She watched him out of clear, knowing eyes. “I believe you,” she said. “No man I know would ever have reacted like you did, if he didn’t give a damn about the girl.”

He brought a hand up to rub his aching chest. Trust Rose to break his heart physically as well as emotionally. “She must be safe,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please. Find her. Take care of her. I’m ill-suited to such a thing.”

“Do you have any idea where she is?”

It was hardly a clever ploy, lulling him into a gentle conversation, then slipping such a question in.

He shook his head. “I wish I did.” He let his head fall back against the pillows. “And I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere soon, if you need to interrogate me.”

She pushed herself to her feet.

When she reached the door, he murmured her name.

The Sheriff looked over her shoulder at him. “Yeah?”

“If you find her…” he began, his breath hitching.

“I’ll let you know,” she promised.

 

______________________________________________

 

She was found in the woods, just off one of her favourite walks that afternoon.

The rain apparently made the path treacherous and a minor landslip had cascaded her down a slope, to the shale-lined creek. She had been knocked around enough by the fall to get some cuts and bruises, according to the Sheriff. Otherwise, though, she was well.

It looked enough of an accident that no one could suspect just who was behind it.

Emma Swan brought him the news while Rose was being treated in the emergency room, and the relief was so great that he had to close his eyes and will himself to calm. If his body was going to react foolishly to bad news, good news would be just as troublesome.

“Bid her good health,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her.

“You’re going to stay out of the way?”

He tried to smile but even that felt an effort. “Recovering is my priority at the moment,” he said. “I would rather not be closed in this disinfected cell any longer than I have to be, and she has enough to worry about.”

The Sheriff nodded briskly, leaving him to his ruminations.

Regina had given him a chore to occupy his mind: the means to divide Snow White and her Prince again. It was hardly a difficult task. He had brought them together often enough in the forest. Now, he simply needed to do the opposite. He had already considered a dozen ways that public and private humiliation could be achieved, but he needed something special. It had to be enough that it would also force Emma’s eyes open.

As much as the woman amused him, he had never met someone so wilfully blind to what was right in front of her.

It did not have to be open to magic. That was unnecessary. What Emma Swan needed was to touch the emotion that was the root of her power and her strength. She was born of one of the Truest Loves in all the realm, and yet was afraid to let herself love.

The curse could only be broken by her and for it to work, she had to be able to love.

If someone she cared for were put at risk, enough for her to realise, but without them being in any true danger…

He smiled as a plan started taking shape in his mind. 

Regina would find it delightful, of course, even if it seemed to harm a woman she claimed as friend. If Snow White were humiliated, it would be one thing, but if Snow White were driven out at the risk of her own life, with every reason to run? Well, the Queen would just love to see that.

He closed his eyes, folding his hands over his chest, and started teasing out the threads. He knew what the end result had to be, and he had a notion of how it could all be managed, but it would have to be done with care. Any implication of treachery would bring punishment raining down on Rose.

It would be a delicate snare, built around the Queen, each strand laid so carefully about her that she would hardly notice they were there until it was too late for her to break free.

He must have slept. 

He wasn’t sure.

One moment, all the strands were being spun together into a shimmering thread, the next, his eyes were cracking open against daylight cutting in through the opened blinds. He frowned, squinting, at a silhouette by the window.

“Who?”

The shape moved closer and his vision came into focus.

Rose.

She was pale, almost grey, and it seemed the Sheriff had not wanted to upset him by telling him the extent of Rose’s injuries. A cut bisected her forehead, stitched and plastered. There were scrapes and bruises all over her bare arms and face. The shirt she was wearing was loose, but not enough to hide the bandages thickening her waist. She was even leaning heavily on a stick, her ankle tightly bound.

It took him a moment to get past the fury and notice that she looked worried. She was looking at him, and she was worried. “Morning, Mark,” she said quietly. 

Shun her.

Dismiss her.

That was what he had to do, in exchange for her being unharmed.

But she was harmed.

Regina always ignored the importance of a deal. For her, a deal was only words. It was never binding. It was never a promise and an oath for her, but for him, it was everything, and she had just severed the bonds that she had bound him with.

His breath caught. It was just fortunate that the oxygen mask had been replaced with less obvious tubes, and he managed to keep himself breathing. “Rose.”

She limped closer, and he was startled to realise that the cane she was using was his. He stared at it, then up at her. Her lips trembled. “You had to steal my thunder, didn’t you?” she said in a small voice. “I get caught in a landslide and bump my head, and you just have to have a heart attack.”

His hands trembled in his lap. He wanted to hold her, bury his face in his hair, breathe her in, whisper that she was the reason, when he thought she was gone, stolen from him again, dead all over again. 

“I felt I had to prove I had one,” he said. It wasn’t funny the first time, but Rose smiled, brief, small, sad. 

“I’d like it better if you didn’t,” she said quietly, leaning on the cane. Her eyes were too bright. “I heard them talking downstairs. They said they almost lost you more than once.” Her voice hitched. “Don’t die, Mark. You were just starting to be interesting.”

“Interesting?” he asked, gazing at her. 

Blue eyes met brown. “Well, your head is out your arsehole for the first time since I met you,” she said, and for a moment, her cheeks dimpled. She drew a breath between her teeth, one hand pressing to her ribs. 

“You’re hurt,” he said foolishly. “Are you… will you be all right?”

One side of her mouth turned up. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said, “But it hurts like a bugger.”

“You should be resting, dearie,” he murmured. She was too pale.

“Hello pot,” she replied. “I’m kettle.” She moved her bandaged ankle with a wince, propping her foot lightly on the floor. “They’re letting me go home, but I wanted to see you weren’t dead or an ass again.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m not one,” he agreed, “and I’m striving not to be the other.” He cracked his eyes open. She couldn’t stay, not knowing it could be witnesses and reported on, not if he wanted her safe, not if he wanted Regina to leave her in peace. “Go home, dearie. Rest yourself. Rest your leg. Don’t worry about a silly old bastard and his broken heart.”

She laughed shakily. “Too late that, you stupid wanker,” she said, avoiding his eyes. She limped back towards the door, pausing there. “I’m keeping the cane.” She looked at it. “It’ll stop you from running off.”

He breathed out a tired laugh. “Touché,” he murmured. “Be well, dearie.”

She looked at him, grave and sad. “You too.”


	6. Chapter 6

He had only been discharged from the hospital for a few hours when the Mayor arrived, smiling and deadly, at his front door. She knew him well enough to know just how deft and cunning his mind could be. 

Even walking across the room had been exhausting. He had no energy to protest when she pushed her way into the house. She took the couch in the living room, reclining elegantly and waited, smirking, as he walked across the floor, his breathing still laboured.

It would improve. Doctor Whale had told him as much, but it would take time and his body had been given a violent shock.

“You’re not looking your best, Rumpel,” she said, draping her arms along the back of the couch.

“I imagine not,” he said mildly, sitting on the edge of one of the chairs and looking at her. He had to fight to keep his expression neutral, but he had worn a mask for centuries. It was not difficult to find it again. “What brings you here, dearie?”

“You know very well,” she said. “You’ve had three days. Time enough to concoct some kind of scheme.”

He rested both his hands on top of his cane. It was not his preferred cane. That was still in Rose’s hands and he had no inclination to retrieve it. “I heard a whisper that the affair has come to light?”

It was hardly a whisper in the wards of Storybrooke’s general hospital. The world outside the building was considered fair game for gossip, and the nurses treated it like some kind of soap opera to be discussed while they toiled their lives away.

Regina smiled. “Indeed,” she said. “It seems little Miss Innocent wanted her brave farm boy to tell his wife everything. Naturally, he couldn’t do such a thing, but he gave away enough that poor Mrs Nolan worked it all out. She was devastated, of course.”

By worked it all out, he knew she had told Kathryn Nolan exactly what needed to be heard.

He inclined his head, just a little. “If they are already parting the ways, what use have you for me?”

“Because it won’t last,” Regina said abruptly. “It never does with those two. I need something more… permanent.” She unfolded her hands gracefully and gestured at him. “I think you know what I’m asking of you.”

It would have all been so much simpler if she had just tortured and maimed the girl before she ever met her true love, but no. Regina always had to make the big, overblown gestures and wait until she was emotionally damaged before finishing her. He had lost count of the number of ways she had tried to end Snow White’s happiness. She was so blinded by her own pain, she barely even acknowledged that every attempt thus far had failed. 

He pushed himself back onto the couch and leaned back, gazing at her. “You don’t want to kill her immediately,” he said, watching her face. “You want to see her suffer first.” He let his mouth turn in a smile. “More than a little break-up, I warrant.” 

There was a hunger, a desperation, in the Queen’s eyes that he knew well. Like a master musician, Rumpelstiltskin knew how to play on the fears and cravings of the desperate.

“What do you have in mind?” she said.

It was simple, really. 

Snow White was to be framed for a tragedy that would befall Kathryn, ruining what was left of her virtuous reputation. She would fear for her freedom, her safety, her life, and when people were afraid, they would run. She would run. She would try to leave Storybrooke.

Regina’s breathing grew heavy and urgent as he spoke.

“Oh, yes,” she whispered, so low and hungry it was almost a moan. “Disgraced and shamed and alone. That’s perfect, Rumpel.” She smiled, all white teeth and dark eyes. “I knew I could trust your wicked little brain to come up with something.”

He bowed his head as if she had paid him a compliment. “It will take time, dearie,” he warned. “We can’t rush such a thing, otherwise it will be obvious.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I can be patient,” she said, despite all evidence to the contrary. “What’s to be done with Kathryn?”

For a woman who had slain her father, to decide to kill her friend for convenience was a minor crime. 

He looked at her. “I’ll take care of that,” he murmured. Storybrooke was not a place to be involved in the murder of innocents. Better that he had charge of her disappearance. “Let me arrange matters, then you can send her to me, and I’ll be sure to take care of her.” He inclined his head slightly. “The less you sully your hands, the more subtle the frame-up.”

The Queen smiled. “Thinking ahead,” she said approvingly. “What will you do with her?”

Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his jaw pensively. “It would have to be done quietly,” he said. “I think something in her food or drink would be best.” He shrugged. “I hardly have the strength to beat someone to death these days. If you can provide the right medicine, I can do the rest.”

The Queen rose, looking far too pleased with herself. “When shall we begin?”

Rumpelstiltskin looked up at her. “I already have,” he said. “Play your part, your Majesty, and I shall play mine.”

She laughed, striding towards the door. She paused there, looking back at him. “I missed times like this, Rumpel,” she said. “I forgot how well we worked together.”

He didn’t speak, only smiled.

One day, he thought as she closed the door, she would learn to listen to what he was saying, and more especially what he was not.

 

______________________________________________

 

It took time to arrange matters.

He also had to show the world that he was not, in fact, incapacitated by his heart attack as rumour suggested. While he wanted nothing more than to stay either in his home or in his shop to avoid the chance of an accidental encounter, he knew that his reputation would suffer if he hid away like an invalid.

As Doctor Whale said, he was much recovered, as long as he didn’t overexert himself.

He wondered whether abduction counted as overexertion.

Kathryn Nolan was yet to fall into his hands, though he had a cabin arranged in the woods for the purpose. 

Regina might think his intention was murder, but he knew the repercussions that would follow, the trail that was almost impossible to hide completely. Abduction was more discreet and would give him the time to find a way to free Rose from Regina’s threats.

Avoiding a public encounter with her was another matter altogether.

He was sure she would be working, safely ensconced at the diner, when he went out to collect some paint brushes from the hardware store. The Mayor must have seen him. To test just how well he was behaving, when he emerged, she was walking towards him. Rose was at her side, and they were talking.

It was a terrible sight, his lover in the clutches of his enemy.

All the same, he ignored them, sorting through the contents of his bag and would have walked passed them at once, if Regina had not called out his name in greeting.

He raised his head, schooling his expression. “Madam Mayor,” he said, feigning surprise.

“Hey, Mark,” Rose said.

He offered her curt nod. “Rose.” He forced his eyes back to Regina. “I’m sorry, dearie. I’m in something of a hurry. I have a good deal to do.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can take five minutes,” Regina countered, eyes cold, mouth smiling. “We were just talking about Rose’s new job.” She looked benevolently down at the younger woman. “I think she’s wasted in the diner. I’ve offered her a place as my secretary. Don’t you think she’ll make a charming employee?”

The temptation to bring up his cane and smash her face in was tempting. 

She was smiling too, and he knew what he had to do, as much as it pained him, as much as he knew it would hurt Rose.

“If you want someone whose idea of filing is called shove-it-in-a-box,” he said. He heard Rose’s sharp intake of breath. He didn’t dare to look at her, not knowing the shock that would be written all over her face. “Really, dearie, she would be better left where she is.”

“You two-faced son of a bitch!” Rose exclaimed furiously.

He made himself look, made himself smile. “Swearing in front of your new employer?” he said. “That’s hardly professional.”

Rose could not have looked more hurt if he had flayed her alive. She drew herself up, though she was trembling. “Excuse me, Madam Mayor,” she said. “I need some fresh air. I’ve heard it’s good for a pain in the ass.”

She stormed around him, slamming her shoulder into his arm with enough force to make him stumble a step. He steadied himself, but did not turn to look after her. Instead, he looked at Regina, his expression hard.

“Was that absolutely necessary?” he asked, ice in his tone.

Her lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “I think it was,” she said. “A point needed to be made, Rumpel. Your precious little Rose is in my employ now. That means she will be by my side, all hours of the day and night, and if you do anything that might jeopardise my plans, just know she will be within easy reach.”

It would be so easy, so very easy, to tell her to please forget all about Rose, but the magic would only work on her. The whole world would be there to remind her, and the moment she remembered one part, everything - their deal included - would all come flooding back.

Magic always came at a price. In Storybrooke, it was far too unpredictable and now, the risk to Rose’s safety was too great.

He gritted his teeth together. “I understand.”

She stepped a little closer to him. “I’m not sure that you do,” she said with such gentleness in her voice that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Gentle on Regina was like cuddly on a rabid dog. It wasn’t right. “You see, she’s my protégée. I think she can be exceptional, if she can just be given guidance by a strong female role model.”

His breathing caught, growing unsteady, and he clung to the cane so hard his hand hurt. It would not help anyone for him to collapse again. It would only undermine his position and reassert Regina’s dominance. He nodded tersely, unwilling to risk speaking.

“I’ll contact you,” she said, as she stepped around him, “regarding our little transaction.”

“Please do,” he muttered darkly.

She froze alongside him, narrowing her eyes. “Was that absolutely necessary?” she echoed, baring her teeth.

He smiled without teeth. “I suspect not,” he said, “but I’m quite keen for our business to be at an end, so if you wouldn’t mind throwing your fish into the right pond, we can get things moving along.”

“Be careful, Rumpel,” she said harshly. “You don’t want to test me.”

“Dearie,” he said, leaning closer to her, “I don’t want anything to do with you, but we are where we are.” He smiled tightly. “Have a pleasant day.”

She snorted and stormed off.

Rumpelstiltskin watched her go, his shoulders slumping. It was exhausting enough fighting a battle of wit and wills at full strength, but he was physically and mentally exhausted. It took effort to walk back to his shop, and when he did, he turned the sign to closed.

There was a chair in the back of the shop, an old, horse-hair monstrosity.

He sagged down into it, taking out the bottle of medications that Whale had provided. They did little to help, but they were better than allowing his body to defeat him. He knocked back two of the pills without water and sank back in the chair.

The curse needed to be broken. Magic needed to be back, now more than ever. He needed to be able to fight Regina, and he needed to be able to heal the damage to his poor, fragile mortal body to last long enough to release Belle and find Bae.

He closed his eyes and rubbed slowly at his chest.

He was getting too old, for the first time in his life.

 

________________________________________

 

Mortality was becoming tiresome.

It was twilight before he realised. Paperwork had been accomplished, and he managed to make some progress in the plans that would lead to Kathryn’s eventual liberation, but even that, simple as it was, drained him. 

He was putting paperwork in order in the back of the shop when he heard the door open, then quietly close. He knew he’d turned the sign to closed, but he had forgotten to lock the door.

The intruder was at the counter when he pushed the curtain aside, and stepped out. “Can I help…” His heart leapt to his throat at the sight of Rose, looking sadder and more tired than she had in weeks.

Rose laid his cane down on the counter. “I came to return this,” she said.

He looked down at it, then back at her. “You didn’t need to,” he said stupidly. 

She looked across the counter at him. “You need it more than I do,” she said. Her voice was so brittle that he wanted to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness. “And I didn’t want it around to remind me of you.”

“Rose…”

“Don’t ‘Rose’ me,” she said, her voice trembling. “What happened to trying? What happened to showing me you weren’t as bad as everyone tells me you are? The first time we talk in front of someone and you humiliated me.”

Rumpelstiltskin clung to the edge of the counter, his hands trembling. “It-” The words caught in his throat, the lie, the need to push her far, far away for her own good. “I can’t let her hurt you.”

Rose stepped back, fear in her eyes. “Who?”

It was too late to stop the words now. “Regina,” he whispered. “She wants me to do things for her. Terrible things. She said if I don’t help her, she’ll harm you.” He shook his head, holding out a hand imploringly. “Rose, I can’t let her hurt you.”

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” Rose asked, her voice cracking. “Mark, all I want it to be treated like I’m worth a damn! And you can’t even do that!”

He half-stumbled around the counter, even as she backed away from him. “Please, Rose,” he said, urgent, desperate. “I know you can’t understand this, but she’s more ruthless than you know. She would hurt you. She’s planning to hurt others just to get what she wants.”

“She’s the Mayor, you asshole,” Rose snarled. “She doesn’t need your help.” Her eyes narrowed to blue slashes. “Is this because she’s offering me an opportunity to make something of my life, instead of crawling to you for mercy and scraps? It is, isn’t it? You don’t want her to help me, because you want to keep me dependent on you?”

“No,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, steady. “No, I want to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” She laughed scornfully. “So I have to be embarrassed and laughed at and called a whore, all so you can make sure no one but you can hurt me?”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her blankly. “You’re no whore,” he said with such finality that she recoiled. “You are the strongest and bravest woman I have ever met.” He sighed. “I was never worthy of your time.”

Her taut stance melted away, her shoulders slumping. “Then why can’t you treat me like that?” she asked, defeated. “What the hell is so wrong in your head that you keep on tearing me down?”

“Before,” he said quietly, “I was another man. I’m not that man anymore.” He hesitated, then reached out and cautiously touched her hand. She flinched, but did not pull away. “I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough.”

“Actions, Mark,” she said quietly. “You promised me actions.”

He held onto her hand. “What I said,” he said, “about the Mayor. I’m not lying or trying to play you for a fool. You can do as you choose, work for her if you want, but please don’t trust her.”

“She’s never done me any harm,” Rose said quietly and he wished he could tell her how wrong she was. “What makes you believe she would hurt me? Give me more than your dislike of her. I need something tangible.”

He exhaled. “She’ll have a visitor in a few days,” he said. “Someone she wants taken care of, someone who will… disappear. You’ll be there. If you hear anything, see anything, please don’t breathe a word to anyone, for her safety and your own.”

Rose stared at him. “What the hell’s going on, Mark?”

“I can’t tell you, not yet,” he said, wishing he could. “Please, Rose. I’ve asked so much of you, but just this one time, this last time, please believe me. If I play you false or do you wrong again, I’ll put my gun in your hands myself, and you can take what vengeance you choose, but this time, I swear it’s true.”

She searched his face. “You’re not the same,” she acknowledged. “You used the word please more than once.” All the same, she drew her fingers from his. “But after everything you’ve done, asking for my trust… Mark, it’s too much.” 

He stepped back, lowering his hands. “I know,” he said quietly. “If the time comes, when you know I’m being honest…” He paused, looked down at his hands. “I would wait for you, Rose. As long as it took.”

Her expression was one of weary confusion, and the question she longed to ask was written all over her face.

She wouldn’t ask.

And he wouldn’t tell. 

Not yet.

“You should go,” he said quietly. “You’ve had enough of my nonsense.”

“Too right,” she said. She gave him one last searching look, then shook her head and walked out of the shop. Even if Regina had eyes on them, their conversation had looked far from friendly, so it should be enough to satisfy the Queen.

Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his eyes.

He had given her a shield of a sort, as much as he could provide to someone who wanted nothing from him. He only hoped that she would remember it, and when the time came, would not slip her head straight into Regina’s noose.


	7. Chapter 7

As far as abductions went, for his first attempt Rumpelstiltskin thought it went well.

Kathryn Nolan was asked by Regina to meet her for a last evening of girl-time at one of the more private cabins in the wood before she left for Boston. Regina promised to meet her there, but all that greeted her was a note advising her that Regina had just gone to fetch some wood for the fire. The note told her to help herself to refreshments, and that Regina would be back shortly.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Rumpelstiltskin had the unconscious woman locked in the basement he had prepared for the purpose. He laid her on the low bed, pressing his fingertips to her throat to check her pulse. It was strong and steady, and he knew she would wake sooner rather than later. The drugs would keep her subdued for several hours, unable to move or make a sound, but that was enough time for his plan to take shape.

Sidney would be coming, Regina’s loyal lackey, and everything had to be prepared. He had his heart attack to thank. When he told Regina he could not do the task alone because he didn’t physically have the strength, she had believed him, and handed him the tool to undermine her.

He made his way back upstairs and set to work. The cabin was small and the floors were not in the best shape. It took no effort at all to loosen a floorboard or two, opening a small hole over the basement. 

Anything that was said upstairs would now be clearly audible downstairs, and he dared a glance down through the hole. Kathryn was stirring, her eyelids fluttering. Conscious, but temporarily paralysed. He nodded in approval, covering the hole with a scattered shawl, thin enough not to muffle the sound. 

Only once that was done did he set to work on the ‘corpse’.

The useful thing about having such a long and chequered past meant that he knew how best to make something that could fool an idiot into thinking it was a woman’s body. 

A pig carcass provided bone and meat with enough weight to be convincing. He padded it out with clothing, and when Sidney arrived and peeked in the window - Rumpelstiltskin knew he would spy before entering - he saw blonde hair being tucked into the black sacks. 

Smoke and mirrors. Rumpelstiltskin could still perform illusions, even without magic. 

Sidney rapped sharply on the door and Rumpelstiltskin made a show of being surprised. He beckoned curtly and the other man hurried into the house.

“Is is done?” he asked, his voice obnoxiously loud in the quiet of the house. 

Rumpelstiltskin hid a smile. “What do you think?” he asked in a low voice. He bared his teeth. “Doesn’t she trust me?”

Sidney looked at him reproachfully. “Regina only asked you to do it because it was necessary,” he said, and the poor fool truly believed it. He was avoiding looking at the black sacking. “She wants to know.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at the weak, stupid man. “Touch it and see,” he said. “I could open it. Let you see her.”

Sidney’s face paled and he shook his head. “N-no,” he said quickly. “No, that’s okay.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s hand shot out snake-fast and caught Sidney’s wrist. He pressed the man’s hand to the plastic wrapping over the pig carcass. He would be able to feel cold clothed flesh, ribs, a still body. “Just in case she has the impulse to doubt me.”

Sidney’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh God,” he whispered, as if he had only just realised what he was a part of. “Oh God oh God oh God.” He looked at Rumpelstiltskin with blank terror in his eyes. “You killed her! You killed Mrs Nolan!”

“And who ordered it, dearie?” Rumpelstiltskin said in a low, cool voice. “This wasn’t my idea, and you know it.”

The little fool was going into shock. Strange for a man who had a murdered a king in his bed. “Regina said it was necessary,” he said, his voice rising hysterically. “She said that she had to get Kathryn out of the way.”

“Yes,” Rumpelstiltskin said, smiling. “Yes, she did.” And if Kathryn was half as clever as Princess Abigail, even half-conscious, she would be paying close attention and realising the situation she was in. He laid his hand on the taped sacks. “You’ll need to help me get this into the woods.”

“I-I-I thought I just had… the car… I thought the car…”

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. “My doctor told me I can’t exert myself,” he said solemnly. “That includes dragging corpses of your employer’s victims into the wood.”

Sidney was practically whimpering. “What are we going to do with it?”

Rumpelstiltskin smirked. “I was thinking a pagan sacrifice to start with,” he said. “Then possibly barbecue some babies.”

“This isn’t funny!” Sidney squawked. 

“No. It’s not,” Rumpelstiltskin said sharply. “Hysterics won’t help. We will take the body to the woods. Bury it. Then you will take the car to the edge of Storybrooke and crash it. Make it look like an accident.”

“Why is she doing this?” Sidney asked pitifully. “Why would Regina want her dead?”

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at him. “Why don’t you ask her that when you get back? I’m sure she would love it if you questioned her motives.”

If anything, that made Sidney go grey with horror. “No. No. We can get rid of it,” he said at once, tripping over his own words in his haste. “The woods, right? Bury it, then dump the car, and that’s it all done with?”

“That’s her plan,” Rumpelstiltskin said, smiling a thin little smile.

 

_____________________________________________________

 

It worked, as he knew it would.

Kathryn’s disappearance on the back of the revelation about the affair between her husband and Mary Margaret Blanchard was food for the gossips. He even left his shop to see how well his little ploy had taken root, sitting in the diner and listening, while he sipped coffee and pretended to read The Mirror. 

Speculation was rife: David Nolan did it so he could be with his girlfriend, Mary Margaret did it so she could keep her boyfriend, they worked together to do it, because Kathryn wouldn’t give David a divorce. It was fascinating and horrifying how quickly the curse would make people turn on a woman they had known and liked for years, and a man who they had been delighted to see recover.

There was one thing Regina had forgotten about.

She caught him in his shop one afternoon.

“You were meant to bring back her heart,” she said, eyes flashing. “We need evidence that she’s dead.”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t even bother looking up from the lamp he was polishing. “You didn’t tell me that,” he said. “I came up with the disappearance plan, dearie. Do I have to think of everything? I killed her. I got rid of her body. I turned all the suspicion on Snow White and her plaything. How was I to know you wanted me to mutilate a corpse as well?”

She pressed her lips together in irritation. “I need a heart,” she said. “Something to really put the blame on her.”

“Because Snow White is so famous for mutilating the bodies of people she hates,” he said dryly, raising his eyes to her. “You could be a little more subtle, you know.”

She scowled. “We don’t have time for subtle,” she said. “I want her gone.”

Rumpelstiltskin sat back on his stool, gazing at her. “Since we don’t have the body anymore, and I have no doubt the wild beasties in the woods will have made fast work of what is left, I can’t help you.” He tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. “Unless you have somewhere else you could get a heart? After all, Whale listens to you. Who’s to say he couldn’t just… amend the results?”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Yes. That could be enough.”

He smiled. “Don’t say I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain,” he said. “If you find a heart and you can make it look like little Snow did the deed, she’ll be thrown in jail. That’s where I come in.”

“You? What part can you possibly play?”

He laughed quietly. “Oh, come now,” he said. “You’ve seen that girl. She practically oozes sincerity and virtue. If you want her to trip and fall, she’ll need someone at her side, putting a foot in front of her. Someone who may look like they’re helping, but…” He shrugged. “A lawyer can advise in all kinds of ways.”

“This better not be a trick, Rumpel,” she snapped.

He met her eyes, his expression hard. “Trust me, dearie, the sooner Snow White is jailed and the sooner she breaks out and runs, the happier I will be,” he said. “I don’t want to be doing your dirty work any longer than I have to.”

That much at least was not a lie.

“Fine,” Regina said. “So we get her locked up. She gets herself in more trouble with your help. I plant the key. She escapes and heads for the outskirts of Storybrooke and what she thinks is freedom.” She sighed wistfully. “I almost wish I could be there to see the look on her face as she crosses the boundary.”

“Alas,” he said, setting the polished lamp down, “your genie is too busy drinking himself into forgetfulness to grant that one for you.” He looked at her. “You couldn’t send someone with a strong stomach, could you? You had to send that snivelling excuse of a man. He spent half the time crying or trying to keep from being sick.”

“He does what he’s told,” Regina said with a thin smile. “I don’t even have to keep his girlfriend as a plaything to ensure his good behaviour.”

“No doubt she’s being efficient,” Rumpelstiltskin said quietly, unwilling to let her have the final word. “She always had a gift for organisation.”

To his surprise, Regina smiled. “Actually, taking her on is probably one of the better things I’ve done,” she said. “You could have made use of that clever brain of hers, Rumpel. And loyal too, you know. She watches Henry for me, when I have business, to make sure that Swan woman doesn’t interfere with him anymore.”

Rumpelstiltskin folded the duster. “Well, I’m glad she’s being useful,” he lied. “Now, if you don’t mind, dear, don’t you have a teacher to frame for murder? I don’t have time to sit and chat all day with you, as delightful as it may be.”

She laughed. “I’ll leave you to your sulking,” she said, turning and striding with all the arrogance of the Queen she was.

Rumpelstiltskin steepled his fingers. 

It was good that Rose was spending time with Henry, especially if Regina took it as a sign of her loyalty. The boy needed friends, and while Rose was hardly known for her experience with children, she was a good person to be left in charge of the child. 

While Henry really needed to have more contact with his biological mother, if given the choice of him spending time with Rose or Regina, Rumpelstiltskin preferred him to be with Rose. Better that neither of them were left completely alone with the Queen.


	8. Chapter 8

The Queen’s mirror was meant to be tailing him.

It amused Rumpelstiltskin just how badly Sidney Glass was taking to his part in the murder of an innocent woman. He was on the verge of a breakdown, but Regina didn’t seem to see it. After all, he had killed for her before. She forgot that this was a new world and that morality was different. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer man.

Sidney was often so drunk that he couldn’t even get behind the wheel of his car, which was why Rumpelstiltskin was able to shake him off and head out to the woods again, to check on his captive. 

He was alarmed to see a bicycle propped against the front wall of the cabin. No one was meant to know about the cabin save him. It was hidden in the backside of nowhere, and the only other people who knew were Regina, Sidney and Kathryn.

He parked the car in front of the building, drawing his gun from the glove compartment, and approached cautiously. Even a short distance from the front door, he could hear voices, and he felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. If someone had discovered Kathryn, if his plans had been uncovered, Rose would be in a world of trouble.

The door opened before he could reach it.

Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth dropped open.

“Rose?”

She had a mug in her hand and looked him up and down. “You look surprised to see me,” she said.

“You could say that,” he said, dazed. “What are you doing here?”

She jerked her head towards the inside of the house, pulling the door wide. “Get your arse in, Mark,” she said. “You have some explaining to do.”

He couldn’t have disobeyed, even if he wanted to. 

The furniture in the cabin was sparse, just a couch and chair by the fireplace, and the plain wooden table and chairs in the kitchen. Kathryn Nolan was curled up in the chair closest to the fireplace, a blanket around her shoulders and a mug of tea in her hand.

She looked up at him, wariness in her expression. “Mr Gold.”

“Mrs Nolan,” he acknowledged weakly. He let Rose steer him over to the vacant couch and push him down. He wasn’t sure what one was meant to say to a woman he was meant to have murdered. “I apologise for the inconvenience.”

She stared at him, then stared laughing. There was a note of dazed hysteria in it. “He saves my life and he’s sorry for the inconvenience,” she said to Rose. Her eyes returned to him. “I heard you talking to the other man. I heard what you said.”

He nodded. “I hoped you would,” he said. He didn’t dare look at Rose. 

“Why?” she asked.

He frowned, momentarily confused. “Why?”

“Why did you save me?”

Rumpelstiltskin turned the cane in his hands. “I’m not a hired blade,” he said. “A long time ago, I made a promise to myself that I would not turn into a monster.” He met Kathryn Nolan’s eyes. “That bitch can blackmail me and try and force me to do her will, but I will not kill for her, no matter what she threatens.” His gaze darted to Rose then back. “But I had to make it appear so. There was more than one life at stake.”

“You weren’t lying about it.” Rose sounded calm, unsurprised.

He shook his head and looked at her. “How did you find this place?” he asked.

“Like you said,” Rose replied, perching on the arm of the couch, one foot propped on the seat beside him. “Regina had a visitor. I remembered what you said. I listened at the door, heard what she said. When Kathryn vanished, I had to know if it was something to do with this place.” She picked at the curve of the couch’s arm. “I didn’t think I’d find anyone locked in the basement.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s cheeks flushed awkwardly. “I apologise, Mrs Nolan,” he said. “I did try to come sooner, but even drunken reporters take some avoiding.”

Kathryn Nolan smiled ruefully at him over the rim of her mug. “As prisons go, it was better than most,” she said. “Thanks for the books. And the picnic hamper was a nice touch. I never thought abduction would include chocolate cake.” She sipped her tea, then said, “I need to stay here, don’t I?”

“Not indefinitely,” he promised. “Only until the time is right.” He traced his thumb over the scrollwork of his cane. “The Mayor is making a powerful enemy in the Sheriff, but the Sheriff just needs that little push. She won’t take the Mayor on head-on, not without some extraordinary evidence.”

“And that’s what I am,” Kathryn guessed. “Someone who has been murdered, walking and talking.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why she would want me dead.”

“A means to an end,” Rumpelstiltskin replied. “Someone has done her wrong. You are only a small part in the grand scheme.”

“Mary Margaret,” Rose said suddenly. She looked at him. “This is why Mary Margaret’s in jail, isn’t it? She wants rid of her.”

Rumpelstiltskin inclined his head. “There’s bad blood,” he said, “but the Mayor has taken it and blown it out of proportion.” He looked up at Rose. “I’m sorry to say you’re a pawn in her game too, dear. She knows I would do anything to protect you.”

Rose slid down off the arm of the couch to sit beside him, a strange expression in her bright eyes. “Pawn to Queen,” she murmured. “She might think we’re all lined up in a row to be sacrificed in her games, but with a good player opposing her…” She reached out, covering his hands with one of hers on the handle of his cane. The warmth of her skin made his breath catch. “Do you know this game well, Mark? Can you outplay her?”

He looked at Rose, his clever Belle in Storybrooke form. “Oh, I intend to,” he promised.

 

____________________________________________

 

 

They had talked, all three, about Regina’s plans and how they could proceed. 

It felt strange to have allies, people he could trust, because it was their own lives on the line and in his hands. It was strange to be trusted by those same people. They listened intently, asked questions that were astute and pertinent, made suggestions.

In the end, it was decided that Rose would continue her work for Regina. As much as Rumpelstiltskin hated to admit it, she was best placed to see what Regina was up to regarding Storybrooke, and it would lull her into a false sense of security.

Kathryn was happy enough to stay in the cabin, now that the door of the basement was unlatched. He had provided a plentiful supply of books and music. There was even a television, if she wanted to watch. Mostly, she seemed relieved to be away of the scrutiny and pity of the people in town.

She retreated to her basement shortly after nightfall.

“I should get back to town,” Rumpelstiltskin said, rising from the couch. “What’s your reason for being away from work?”

Rose smiled crookedly. “Hiking trip,” she said. “She knows I like walking in the woods.”

“Oh, she does that,” Rumpelstiltskin said darkly.

Rose stared at him. “That landslide?” she said, her voice suddenly small. “That wasn’t an accident, was it?”

He shook his head. “She wanted to show me what she was capable of,” he said. He knew he shouldn’t, but he lifted his hand anyway and brushed his fingers along her cheek. “It nearly killed me when I thought she’d taken you away from me.”

Her eyes widened. “The heart attack? It was because of me?” She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “Why, you asshole?”

“You know.”

She caught him by the lapels of his coat. “Say it,” she said, her voice low and fierce. “Tell me why.”

“I love you.”

The words hung in the air of the cabin, like dust motes caught in a beam of moonlight.

Suddenly, she was kissing him, kissing him like her life depended on it, kissing him as if he was worthy of it. His cane fell from his hands, his fingers catching at her hips, and he made a quiet, urgent sound as her hands sank into his hair. She was devouring him, consuming him, drinking in every little breath, every little sigh, and he could feel tears on his cheeks, and it was all he could to hold her close.

Her hands drew from his hair to cradle his face and she pressed her brow to his. “You stupid bugger,” she whispered, brushing the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs. “Stupid, stubborn bugger.”

“Your stupid bugger,” he whispered.

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “You’re staying here tonight,” she said quietly, releasing his face to take one of his hands instead. He should have left. He should have resisted. He should have said no.

He didn’t.

She led him up the narrow, rickety staircase. There was a bed there, an ancient wooden thing, so sturdy that if the cabin fell down around them, the bed would still be standing. Rose pushed him down to sit on the bed and straddled him, kissing him as her fingers loosened his tie and threw it aside. 

His hands slid over her sides, up beneath her shirt, and he shivered as he felt the bare, warm skin beneath his hands.

“I won’t break,” she whispered against his lips. “Show me.”

His fingers bunched in the fabric of her shirt, and he pulled it up, over her head. Her hair fell loose around her face and Rumpelstiltskin could only stare at her in wonder. She stifled a laugh into his lips, pushing him back to sprawl on the blankets, and her mouth moved off his, down his throat.

Rumpelstiltskin groaned raggedly. In his mind, he knew they had done this dozens, hundreds of times, in hundreds of different ways, but to him, for him, this was the first time with the woman who both was and wasn’t Belle. He tangled his fingers into her hair, bringing her mouth back to his, darting his tongue against hers. She nipped on it with her teeth and shifted her hips over his.

One of his hands seemed to have taken a mind of its own, stroking over her side, up to caress her breast through the lace of her bra, and she made a small, approving sound against his mouth as he slipped deft fingers between fabric and flesh.

He was breathing heavily, harshly, and he had to close his eyes, catch his breath. Rose stroked a hand over his bare chest. “Your poor heart,” she whispered, resting her palm over the place where it beat. “I didn’t mean to break you.”

Rumpelstiltskin laughed tremulously, drawing his hand from her chest to cover her small palm on his. “I’d have no one else do it,” he whispered. She lifted her face to look at him, her hair spilling around her like a dark cloud. He couldn’t see her features, but he felt the warm spatter of her tears as she leaned over him and kissed him again. 

Whatever they had done before, when he was Mark Gold, it was nothing compared to this.

It was slow, it was tender, and with each piece of clothing that was cast aside, they explored one another with lips, hands, eyes, with every sense. He refreshed every memory, replacing the bitterness of what it was to Mark Gold with the love he felt for her. He wanted her to know just how much he loved her, and when she sobbed as he touched her, when she clung to him, when she pulled his mouth down to hers again, it was like coming home.

When he laid her back against the pillows, when he looked at her, cast in silver moonlight, he could not have loved her more.

She drew him to her, wrapping arms and legs about him to guide him. “Say it again,” she whispered, as he pressed so close to her, but not yet as close as he could be. Her fingers were trembling against his cheek. 

“I love you,” he breathing, bracing himself over her, one hand pressing into the pillow beside her head. “Gods, I love you so much.”

She was the one to close that last space between them, and he was the one to cry out. He was one with Belle, Rose, the woman he loved more than anything, almost more than anyone. He could not and would not let her go again.

Her arms were around him, her legs, her cheek resting against his, and she was breathing with him, her heart beating as wildly against his. She spread one hand on his back, and he could feel her fingers trembling.

“I love you too,” she breathed against his ear. “God help me, I love you too.”


	9. Chapter 9

He left the cabin before dawn, and for all that he was exhausted, he was also feeling more rested than he had for decades. When he woke, Rose was sitting up beside him, cross-legged, just watching him, as if expecting everything he had said and done the night before to be brushed aside or forgotten.

Mark Gold had been cruel to her in so many ways.

He pulled her down, kissing her again, and they tried to make love as quietly as possible, because they could hear Kathryn moving around on the lower level. Rose’s giggles combined with their ragged breathing and the creak of the bed gave them away. He wasn’t the only one to blush like a naughty schoolchild when they came downstairs and Mrs Nolan raised her eyebrows in their direction. 

Rose shooed him from the cabin, still giggling, and gave him a last kiss.

“See you in town, Mr Gold,” she said.

“Indeed, Mrs Gold,” he said, gazing at her in her T-shirt and knickers, her hair a mess, her lips swollen and pink. He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted to take her back inside, back up the stairs and have her all to himself all over again.

She bit her lower lip, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You should go,” she said. “Or you’ll never leave.”

“Is that so bad?” he asked.

She met his eyes, smirked. “Not if you want to outwit the wicked witch.”

That was why he had to leave.

That was why he drove back home to shower and wash every trace of her from his skin. It pained him, the scent of her clinging to his clothes, but it was necessary. When the curse broke, when Regina was defeated, he could let himself be ridiculous and sentimental. 

The only thing he couldn’t wash away was the lovebite she had left over his heart.

“So you know who it belongs to,” she had told him, before letting him dress.

Rumpelstiltskin traced his fingertips over the reddened bruise.

As if he could forget.

When he reached the shop, he found a curt note from the Mayor had been slipped under the door, demanding that he visit her offices at his earliest possible convenience.

The poor dear was paranoid, it seemed. 

He tarried as long as he could, doing nothing in particular around the shop, then set out for City Hall. It was raining, heavy grey sheets. People were rushing about under umbrellas like hasty mushrooms. He chose to drive instead, walking as briskly as he could from the sidewalk to the main doors of the building.

The hall was quiet, and his footfalls and the tap of his cane echoed.

A desk had been arranged for Regina’s new secretary, and Rumpelstiltskin bit down on a smile at the sight of her. She must have arrived back in town shortly after he had, and she looked right at home in an elegant suit, her hair pinned up in a neat French roll.

She was standing at a filing cabinet, looking through a folder and frowning.

“Too many big words?” he said condescendingly.

Her lips twitched and she slanted a look at him from beneath her lashes, before turning and giving him a cold, appraising look. “Do you have an appointment?”

He held up Regina’s note. “She didn’t specify,” he said. “Why don’t you run and fetch us some tea, dearie? I recall you could manage to make that without burning it.”

She stalked across the floor towards the door of Regina’s office. He couldn’t help notice that the knee-length skirt suited her very well, her calves sleek and shapely. He caught himself, raising his eyes as she pushed the door open.

“Madam Mayor,” she said. “Gold. He says you want to see him.” The implication in her tone suggested she would be more than happy to kick him out.

“Ah, yes,” Regina’s voice rang through. “Show him in, dear. We have business to discuss.”

Rose stepped back, pushing the door wide and jerked her head with a scowl. “In here.”

He paused in the doorway and looked her up and down. “Dressing like a woman, acting like a child,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Go to hell,” she replied sweetly.

He smirked at her. “Don’t forget my tea, dearie,” he said, shooing her away with a gesture, and shutting the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut, his expression turned grim. “Is that why you called me here? So I would have to see her?”

“You weren’t at your shop,” Regina said. She was sitting at her own desk, leaning back lazily. There was an apple in her hand, half-peeled. “I thought it might remind you who is in charge of this little arrangement.”

“I wasn’t at my shop,” he said tersely, “because I had to go and make sure that we had cleared all evidence of your little scheme away. If that idiot mirror of yours hadn’t been sick so many times, I would have been more than happy, but no. Instead, I have to go back into the woods and cover tracks left by your inept lackey.”

Regina’s features twisted in a scowl. “You didn’t think to do it sooner?”

“I’m sure no one would find it suspicious at all that I was out in the woods immediately after she disappeared,” he replied. “After all, you’ve ensured that I have such a stellar reputation in town. We wanted the attention on your dear step-daughter. Not on me.”

The Queen studied him, then nodded. “I suppose.” She steepled her fingers together, a pose he remembered well as his own. “And the key?”

“She is due for questioning by the DA tomorrow, as you know. When she’s taken out of the cell, I’ll see to it that it gets slipped in then.” He turned his cane slowly. “Now I’ve made certain there’s no papertrail, there’s no chance of Kathryn being stumbled upon when they go after Miss Blanchard.” His smile was thin and forced. “I believe that was what you wanted.”

She resumed peeling her apple, the skin uncurling in a dark red coil. “I’m very interested to see this mysterious legal advice you have been giving her,” she said, turning her seat to cross her legs. 

“It was enough to be convincing, but not enough that she won’t stumble,” he murmured, falling silent as the door opened again. He glanced over his shoulder as Rose entered, carrying two cups. She set one on Regina’s desk, then turned, deliberately tripped, and poured the other straight into his lap.

It took him a split-second to realise that while Regina’s cup was steaming, the liquid soaking his clothes was lukewarm at best.

All the same he surged to his feet.

“Fucking hell! You stupid little tart!”

“It was an accident!” she yelled back at him, grabbing his pocket handkerchief and reaching as if to dab at his trousers. He caught her wrist, knowing just how awkward things could get if she tried to clean up the mess. He saw her cheeks redden and the grin she hastily hid.

“You’re lucky you’re working for the Mayor,” he snapped, brushing her hand away. “Otherwise, you’d learn what a mistake it was to be such a clumsy little bitch.” He mopped at the sodden trousers. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Madam Mayor. This girl isn’t worth the air she breathes.”

Regina looked like she was having trouble hiding a smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Gold,” she said. “Sometimes, a man like you deserves everything he gets.”

He bared his teeth, then limped out of the room. It was more pronounced than usual, just for show, but he maintained it until he was back at his shop. Only when the door was locked and the sign was turned to closed did he start laughing.

 

_______________________________________________

 

It was still raining when he got home from the shop that evening.

When he opened the front door, he paused, frowning, at an unusual draught. The windows of the house were always closed, so the chill waft of air that ruffled his hair caught him by surprise. He closed the door cautiously and moved a little further into the house.

There was a second gun in the drawer of his bureau, so he drew it out as a precaution. 

It was not a good time to have enemies.

The lower level of the house was silent and still, but he found the source of the draught: a window in the kitchen had been broken open, and he could see a trail of barely-dry footprints leading deeper into the house.

He followed, then his lips twitched.

Most burglars would not go into the bathroom and leave a pile of damp clothes on the floor and steam the room up by taking a hot shower. He put the gun down and continued on to the room that he become his bedroom.

Rose was there, sprawled on her belly, reading. What made his breath catch in his throat was the fact she had abandoned her rain-sodden clothing and was, instead, wearing one of his shirts, the sleeves rolled up over her elbows.

He stood in the doorway just watching her for a moment. She knew he was there. She was smiling too innocently not to. 

Finally, he said, “Too many big words, dearie?”

A grin broke onto her face and she tilted her head to look at him. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Well, it is my bed,” he said dryly. 

Rose closed the book and stretched over to place it on the beside cabinet on her side of the bed. She’d always taken the left side, in case his leg seized up in the night, and some habits were hard to break. “So it is,” she said, wide-eyed.

“And I can’t help noticing that’s my shirt.”

She looked at him with a smile. “If you’re so indignant about it, come over here and get it off me,” she said, kneeling up on the bed.

A stronger man would have buckled too, he knew that.

He walked across the floor to her and they crashed together with a violence that should have alarmed him, but it couldn’t and didn’t for the simple reason that she was in his arms again and wasn’t going anywhere. Her mouth found his and he wrapped his arms around her, fingers twisting into the shirt she was wearing.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” he whispered between kisses. “Dangerous.”

“To hell with danger,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his cheek, his jaw, his throat, as she pushed his jacket from his shoulders to drop to the floor. His tie quickly followed. “You love me and I’m not about to waste it, while it lasts.”

He drew back to look at her, startled.

“While it lasts?”

Her hands rested on his chest, one thumb toying with a button. “I’m not an idiot,” she said quietly. “I’m too old to believe in happily ever after.” She offered him a small, hopeful smile. “But as long as you’ll have me.”

He raised his hand to touch her cheek. “Forever, Rose,” he said softly, “otherwise, what’s the point?”

She looked so astonished, so awed and dazed, he couldn’t help but kiss her again and again. His other hand loosened each button of the shirt one by one, and as it fell open, she rose on her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body to his.

He kissed his way from her lips to her throat, down to her shoulder. As she tried to divest him of his shirt, he tugged at the one she was wearing, until in a tangle, they both laughed and she shook her arms, letting it slip off her entirely.

Rumpelstiltskin sank down onto his good knee, his hands to her hips and rested his cheek against her belly. It was too much. She was here and close and beautiful and everything he loved but didn’t deserve at all. 

“It’s all right,” she whispered, combing her fingers through his hair over and over. “I’m here. It’s all right.”

He leaned back to look up at her. “I love you.”

Her fingertips traced his features, every crease, every wrinkle, his lips, his nose, his lashes, his brows, so gently it felt like a breath of air. She leaned down and kissed his lips. “I love you too,” she whispered. “Now, get off the floor, you stupid bugger.” 

It took a moment, his leg protesting, but by the time they fell together on the bed, they were both laughing helplessly.

“Am I going to have to take pity on you, old man?” she teased, as she unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. 

“Take advantage of, more like,” he corrected, a hiss of air escaping between his teeth as she ran her hand the length of his chest. A tight, strangled sound broke from his lips as she leaned over him and pressed her lips to the lovebite on his chest. Her teeth scraped and worried at it and he plunged a hand into her hair, holding her there. “Gods…”

Rose lapped gently at the mark. “Just so you don’t forget,” she whispered, then licked again, delicate darting laps. Her fingers splayed on his ribs, playing across them like the keys of a piano, and she shifted, sprawling over his hip and thigh. The softness of her body against him - even though his trousers - combined with her touch and the gentle licks made him whimper.

“Rose,” he gasped out.

He felt the smile against his chest, and shivered delightfully as her fingers slid from his ribs down, down, gently tracing the waistband of his trousers, and then tugging at his belt. 

“Take advantage of, was that what you said?” she breathed, the air cooling the damp skin softly and making him gasp again. The buckle of his belt came undone, and her hand touched him just as she bit his chest again, and he almost was done right there and then. She didn’t help by giggling.

He tangled his fingers into her hair and drew her up to kiss him. “Tease.”

She straddled his hips, her hands braced on either side of his head. “You got that right,” she said, her eyes shining. “How about I make up for the tea?”

He traced a fingertip down her cheek. “I did wonder if you were just trying to grope me in public for your own amusement.”

She laughed and shifted one hand down between them, squeezed. He groaned, closing his eyes. “Foreplay right in front of your worst enemy,” she whispered, moving her fingers nimbly, freeing him from his trousers. “Tell me that doesn’t turn you on, screwing with her like that.”

“More than I would like,” he confessed, his hips shifting demandingly. He ran his hand up her arm, then over her shoulder and down the length of her back. “But enough about her, dearie.”

Her lips ran softly over his. “Enough,” she agreed in a whisper, and kissed him again.

 

_________________________________________________

 

“Trouble walking, Gold?”

Rumpelstiltskin almost tripped over his own feet at Regina’s voice, when he stepped into the Sheriff’s office. Of course she would be there. It was the day she got to see Snow White broken and humiliated. She would never want to miss that. 

He did not immediately recall why she would notice that he was limping. She was standing, arms folded, just inside the door. There was an amused smirk hanging on her lips and he took a moment to realise why.

Where she thought he was burned, he was more bruised and aching from exertion.

All the same, she could believe what she wanted to believe and he would fan the flame.

“I don’t find being scalded amusing,” he said with a scowl.

Her lips parted just enough to show a flash of perfect white teeth. “You know you deserved it,” she said. “That girl has every right to do whatever the hell she wants to you, and if that means pouring hot tea in your lap, I will applaud it every time.” She leaned a little closer. “I do hope there’s no permanent damage.”

He ground his teeth, pressing his lips together. Better than smiling at the memory of Rose the night before. She had insisted on kissing him better for the offence done with the tea, despite his insistence that she needed to do no such thing. “I’ll survive.”

“Shame,” she said, then stepped aside to let him into the office. “Still, it warms my heart as much as it warmed your… well…” Her eyes gleamed maliciously. “I’m sure you can pick up some lotion at the chemist if you’re having trouble.”

He ignored her and made his way over to the cell. Miss Blanchard looked up at him, pale and drawn. 

“You’re ready to speak?” he said. He could see she was exhausted, shadows under her eyes. She was too tired to be interrogated, but now was the perfect time for it, because she was all the more likely to slip and say the wrong thing.

“I just want it all to be over with,” she said in a small, weary voice. “All I have is the truth. I can’t say more than that.”

“That may be enough,” he murmured the lie smoothly. The D.A. was an unpleasant man, as ruthless in Storybrooke as he had been in the forest, and Rumpelstiltskin had no doubts that he could rile poor, weary Miss Blanchard into saying something she would certainly regret.

The Sheriff was pacing and anxious. She unlocked the door of the cell, and took Mary Margaret by the arm. Rumpelstiltskin took the distraction to deftly flick the skeleton key into the tangled sheets on the cell’s bunk, before following.

It all went exactly as he knew it would.

Mary Margaret’s honesty got the better of her. All at once she was confessing that yes, she wanted Kathryn out of the picture, and no, she wasn’t unhappy that the woman was gone. It was an outburst of less than ten seconds, but it was more than enough to condemn her, and Regina would have what she wanted.

Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his brow, shaking his head, as if he could have stopped Mary Margaret from telling the truth when she was upset. It was about as efficient as trying to build a dam out of tissue paper. 

When the D.A. left, the woman turned a horrified look on him. “I’m so sorry, Mr Gold,” she said, clasping at his arm. “I-I know you told me not to say anything, but he was being so horrible, and I…” There were tears in her eyes. “Oh God. They think I’m guilty, don’t they?”

He patted the hand clutching his arm. “They believe what they want to believe,” he said, looking at her. She had to be afraid. She had to be terrified. She had to be desperate enough to take the key and to run. “You’ll go to trial, I’m afraid, my dear. Trials are messy affairs. The evidence and what you have just said stands against you.”

“But I didn’t do it,” she said plaintively, tears splashing down her cheeks. “I couldn’t do anything so horrible.”

“We know.” The Sheriff stepped into the room and closed the door. “What can we do, Gold?”

Rumpelstiltskin looked from mother to daughter and back. “Miss Swan,” he said, “you can do your job. We need evidence. Solid, tangible evidence. They have too much to use against us just now. I would suggest you get out there and keep looking.”

She nodded at once. “You do your job and I’ll do mine,” she said. “Mary Margaret…”

The woman nodded. “Back to the cell?” she said unhappily.

“Only a little longer,” Emma said softly, a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll find something soon.”

Rumpelstiltskin watched them go. He almost pitied them for what he was about to put them through, but sometimes, ruthlessness was required.


	10. Chapter 10

The Sheriff was desperate.

She was willing to do anything, and on that account, Rumpelstiltskin smiled. 

“Well, then,” he said, “we should go and talk to Miss Blanchard and find out just what we can do for her.”

“You’re sure you can fix this?” Emma said as he rose from his workdesk, leaving the lamp forgotten. “I don’t want to get her hopes up, only for her to be disappointed if it all goes wrong.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. “Oh, have no fear, dear,” he said. “I’m not about to let Regina get the better of us.” He led her back through the shop, opening the door and half-bowing. “After you.”

They made their way back to the Sheriff’s station, but they weren’t the first to get there.

“Henry?” Emma said, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to congratulate you,” Henry said, beaming.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced past the boy at the woman sitting beside him. Rose gave him a look, even as Emma put her hands on her hips and looked down at the boy.

“For what?” she demanded.

“Your genius plan,” Henry said, looking eagerly up at them.

Rumpelstiltskin wanted to smile. Such a little. Even if he was not Regina’s by blood, the boy had learned skills from the cradle. “And what plan is that, Henry?” he asked. The boy’s expression immediately closed and he clasped Rose’s hand, as if something didn’t make sense to him.

Rose’s eyes darted sidelong and that combined with Henry’s trepidation was enough.

“Right,” he said, walking towards the cells, making it clear he knew when there was conspiring to be done in his absence. He almost grinned at the sight of the open door. It was always refreshing when people were predictable.

He waited several seconds, then called, “Sheriff! Can you join me please?”

Emma rushed in, closely followed by Henry and Rose.

“She’s gone,” Rumpelstiltskin said, hiding his smile.

“Henry, what did you do?” Emma demanded furiously.

The boy raised his hands defensively. “Nothing! She was gone when I got here.”

“She was!” Rose added. “God, I thought we were just coming to see the Sheriff. Regina is going to flip!”

“Her arraignment’s tomorrow,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, not turning nor looking at Henry or Rose. Emma had to be the focus now. “If she’s not there…”

“She’s a fugitive,” Emma cut in. “It doesn’t matter if she’s convicted for Kathryn or not. She’s screwed.” Good girl, knowing her law. She whirled around. “I have to go find her before someone notices she’s missing.”

“You mean Regina,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured.

Emma stopped dead at the sight of Rose. Everyone knew she was working for the Mayor, though only Rumpelstiltskin really knew in what capacity.

“Miss French won’t tell,” Henry said quickly. “I’ve got her in Operation Cobra!”

Emma pushed a hand through her hair. “Rose…”

“I like Mary Margaret,” Rose said. “Get her back here before morning and I won’t breathe a word to anyone.” The Sheriff stared at her just a moment too long and a moment too hard. “I promise, Emma. Not a word.”

Emma nodded curtly, stalking to her desk and raking through it. “The arraignment’s at eight a.m. and she’ll be here bright and early to celebrate her victory.”

“You have until eight a.m.” Rumpelstiltskin said with a nod.

“What about me?” Henry asked. “How can I help?”

Emma sighed, then looked at Rose. “You take him home,” she said, then to her son, “You be good, okay?”

“Emma, if she leaves Storybrooke…”

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes widened in surprise at that. The boy knew? Emma nudged him and Rose towards the door. Rumpelstiltskin stepped closer to the Sheriff. “Miss Swan, I know time is of the essence,” he said, before she could dismiss both Rose and Henry, “but If Miss Blanchard doesn’t return, her future’s in jeopardy.” He met her eyes. “If you’re caught helping her, so’s yours.”

“I don’t care,” Emma said abruptly. “I’d rather lose my job than my friend.”

He smiled as she turned and walked away. The Sheriff, learning to love after all. That was all he needed to know, as he emerged into the hall. Rose was still there, holding Henry’s shoulder, and in the distance, the door slammed.

“She’s gone,” Rose said, then turned. “Mark, did you know about this?”

Rumpelstiltskin could feel Henry staring at him intently. “If I did, I hardly think it would be something to discuss in front of the Sheriff’s son.”

“I won’t tell!” Henry said. He stared at Rumpelstiltskin. “Rose says you’re not a bad guy, even if mom says you are.”

Rumpelstiltskin glanced at Rose, who blushed. “Did she, indeed?” He bent to look Henry in the eye. “Since people are telling stories, then perhaps you can tell me what this Operation Cobra is all about.”

 

________________________________________________________

 

 

The boy’s tale was quite the revelation.

It seemed that not everyone had forgotten the stories of their origins, and of all the people to know about it, the Queen’s adopted son was the one to know the truth, believe it, and was fighting to convince the Saviour.

It was food for thought. 

Someone out there had created the book that the boy carried everywhere with him. They could not have been resident in Storybrooke throughout the curse, which meant that someone else had passed safely into this world without magic.

He tried not to let his heart race.

It couldn’t be Bae.

It wasn’t possible that it was Bae.

Bae wouldn’t know of Snow White or the Queen or the thousand and one other stories that had found their way into the book. He wanted to borrow the it, but Henry wasn’t keen to let it go, in case it fell into enemy hands. 

If he knew which stories were in it, he could try and work out who could be behind it.

It was unlikely to be an ally, even if they were working towards the same cause. The few pages he had skimmed had only mentioned his name in passing, and the details were hazy, but he was certainly portrayed as the monster that they had believed him to be.

Rose insisted on taking Henry home, otherwise Regina would be suspicious, and the book was taken with him, but Rumpelstiltskin kept thinking on it. If they told his tale as that of a monster, that meant no one knew of his history. No one knew about Bae, that much he was sure of. Whether they knew about Belle was a different matter and that concerned him.

If they were an enemy of the Queen, that was good, but if they considered him an enemy as well, then Belle could be in danger from more than one angle. Common sense told him that putting her to one side, letting her be, would be safer for all concerned.

Of course, common sense in the face of people he loved was never his strong suit.

He heard the creak of the kitchen window as he lay in the darkness of his bedroom. 

When Rose slipped into the bed beside him, her hands and feet were cold, and she nestled against him as if she had always been there. Rumpelstiltskin hissed through his teeth when she tangled her bare legs around his, and her cold feet collided with his warm ones.

“Sorry,” she murmured without any shame at all.

“No, you’re not,” he said, shifting his arm to wrap it around her shoulder. Her hair was a warm cascade against his chest and she tilted her head to kiss his collarbone where it was visible at the collar of his pyjamas.

“Mm,” she agreed.

He tangled his fingers loosely in her hair, wrapping curls around each finger in turn, wondering at how natural it felt to simply be lying with her beside him. “I had no idea Henry had taken to you so well.”

“I’m not his mother,” Rose replied with a small yawn. “Anyone who isn’t the Evil Queen gets a free pass.” She smiled against his chest. “And you know I’m good with kids. Ashley says I’m the best baby-sitter she’s got.”

His fingers brushed her nape through her hair, gently stroking. “You would be a wonderful mother,” he murmured.

She was still, silent, for a moment. Finally, she said quietly, “Yeah. It’d be nice.”

He knew he shouldn’t have said something. Not when she was still so sure she would be cast aside in the future, not when she saw no chance of a permanent and happy relationship with him. No happily ever afters, after all. He caressed the nape of her neck gently, unable to think of a thing to say.

Finally, he said, “Henry seems quite convinced about his book.”

Rose nodded, toying with the button of his pyjama top. “He was telling me all of his theories about people,” she murmured. “There are only a few people he can’t figure out.” She lifted her head to look at him in the thin light. “You and me are two of them.”

He snorted. “I would say it’s obvious.”

“Oh yeah, smart guy?” She propped herself on his chest, smiling at him. “Who are we?”

He traced the outline of her cheek, and curled a fingertip under her chin, his thumb brushing lightly across her lips. “Beauty and the beast,” he murmured.

He couldn’t see the blush, the light too low, but he could feel the warmth rush through her skin and she bit lightly on his thumb in reproof. “Don’t tease me, you asshole,” she said, though she sounded pleased. 

He smirked at her. “I didn’t say which was which.”

“Hey!” Rose laughed and socked him in the middle of his chest.

He caught her hand and held it there. “Mercy, oh beast! Mercy!”

“I’ll beast you, you cockspank,” she said, smiling into a kiss. 

“That’s what I’ve heard,” he said against her lips, then stifled a groan as she pinned him with her body. She leaned over him and with deliberate menace, pressed her hands hard into the pillow on either side of his head. Her hair fell around her face in heavy, soft curtains, and he could only just make out the glitter of her eyes.

She didn’t speak, nor did she lean down to kiss him or touch him, but slowly, she started rocking her hips against his. It was slow, titillating, barely a brush of contact over and over, and he moved his hands under the sheets to slide them up her thighs to caress her hips.

Her breath caught as one of his hands slipped lower, neat between their bodies, and he could see the flash of white as she bit down on her lower lip. This was for her, tonight, not for him, and he watched her, drank her in, and felt her warm, slick against his fingers. A spinner had to have deft hands and a light touch, and he knew her, he knew her so well. 

“Mark…” she whispered, lowering her head to his, her breath stuttering against his lips.

“I know,” he whispered as she gave a small, beautiful, broken sob.


	11. Chapter 11

She was gone before he woke.

He knew it had to be that way, even if it pained him. 

It was early when he stirred. She must have departed when it was still dark, slipping out into the streets when no one would see her, and no one would know that she was sneaking back to share her ex-husband’s bed. 

Even if she did love him, even if there wasn’t the threat hanging over her, he knew there would be shame in going back to a man who had treated her like dirt.

She hated being Mark Gold’s whore as much as she delighted in being his lover. 

He made his way downstairs to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. It was only when he opened the refrigerator that he realised she had not let the house without making sure he wouldn’t forget her presence. A small red velvet cake occupied the bottom shelf with a smiley face drawn on in icing.

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at it, shaking his head. A dark curse had torn their lands apart, her mind had twisted on itself, and yet she still remembered his favourite kind of cake.

He dressed briskly, then set out for the Sheriff’s station. He had barely set foot in the door before Mary Margaret rushed into the room, stopping dead at the sight of him. One side of his mouth twitched and he jerked his head towards the cell.

She fled into it, pulling the door closed, the key nowhere in sight.

It seemed she was just in time, for moments later, Regina stepped into the room and Rumpelstiltskin could not help an inward smirk at the stunned look on her face as Mary Margaret innocently said, “Madam Mayor.”

“Excuse me,” he said, stepping into Regina’s line of sight. “My client is not having visitors.”

She glared daggers at him. “Of course not.”

“I’ll see you out,” he murmured, knowing that some explanation had to be given, or else it would be Rose’s fate on the line. He followed her as she stalked back into the corridor, her expression black as she whirled on him. “What is she doing here?”

He held her gaze. “She came back,” he said quietly. It would not be something that the Queen would have taken into her deliberations: fear meant flight. It did not mean being bold enough to return. 

“You said this was going to work,” she snarled, low and calm, but no less dangerous for it. “That she’d take the key, that she’d go.”

“And she did,” he pointed out, “but it seems that Miss Swan is rather more resourceful than we thought.” He smiled slightly. “Fear not, your Majesty. Miss Blanchard is still guilty of murder.” He inclined his head. “You may yet get what you want.”

“Oh, I better,” she said, eyes gleaming with malevolence. “The only reason I made a deal with you, Gold, was because I wanted results.”

“And results you shall have.” His smile faded, his expression cold and hard. “I have too much to protect to go against you, dearie.” He folded one hand over the other on the handle of his cane. It was strange how comforting it was to hold something that Rose had held so recently. “See you at the arraignment.”

The Queen turned on her heel and prowled out.

Rumpelstiltskin returned to the office. Mary Margaret was slumped on the bunk, looking drained and nervous. 

“Mr Gold.”

“No more running away, dearie,” he cautioned quietly. “I let it slide this once, but you know you must be brave if you are to see this through.”

“How can I?” she asked, looking up at him, paler than pale, her eyes shadowed. 

He inclined his head with a knowing smile. “Be yourself.” He tapped one hand against the bars of the door. “This may not be locked, but Miss Swan would be devastated if she found you gone again. She will do anything to keep you safe.”

Mary Margaret Blanchard looked at him with the calm-eyed defiance he had not seen in many moons. Snow White was gazing out through those green eyes. “I’m not going to run,” she said quietly. “I didn’t kill anyone. I’m not going anywhere. Emma’ll prove it.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. “I’m sure she will,” he said. “Stay here, dear, and get some rest. I think you may need it.”

He left her there to go and find the Sheriff. He ran into her on the way into the building, looking even more weary than Mary Margaret herself. It seemed that whatever had happened the night before, she was not willing to speak of.

“Has there been any progress?” he asked, watching her eyes for some tell.

“I’m still looking into it,” she replied tersely, and the tension in her expression told him all that he needed to know. There were no more questions he could ask, and no more she could or would answer. 

He had covered Regina’s tracks well enough, and the only thing that could have given her away was the heart and the box containing it. He had let her do that part herself, and he had hoped she would give herself away. 

Apparently, that was not going to be the case.

It was getting close. 

If she didn’t find evidence by the time Mary Margaret was taken to trial, he knew it was time for his secondary plan to come into play. He wondered idly if it could really be called a secondary plan, when it had been his intention to use it all along.

He couldn’t trust Regina not to screw up when it came to murder, what with all her experience, but he could one hundred percent guarantee it that she would lose control when it came to her ability to manage a deal. 

Rumpelstiltskin took out his cellphone and dialled Rose’s number. “Hello, dear,” he said with a smile. “Is she there?”

“What the fuck do you want, you bastard? I told you to stop calling me?”

“That would be a yes, then?” he said, chuckling. “It’s time.”

Rose drew a breath. “Oh God. Mark. Mark, don’t,” she said, and he wanted to applaud her. “I-I-I didn’t mean… dad, he’ll get the backdated payments soon.”

“Convincing,” he said, pausing on the step. “Can you make it happen for tomorrow?”

She choked down a sob. “Mark, don’t. Just… just give us a few more days? Please?” She was crying, he could hear it. It hurt, even if it was feigned, to know she was drawing on past experience with him. 

Abruptly, Regina’s voice came down the line. “You’d do well to leave Miss French and her father alone,” she said shortly. “They will pay their debts as and when they are able. You have your own to worry about.”

“Make sure you remember your side of that bargain, your Majesty,” he said coolly, then terminated the call. He looked at his cell with a small smile. Rose was a convincing little actress from the sounds of things, for Regina to get so defensive. 

Now, it was up to her. 

 

________________________________________________

 

The arraignment went as well as could be expected.

A trial date was set, and Mary Margaret sat stone-faced throughout. Regina was there, smiling quietly, in the gallery as the D.A. went through the charges, but the Sheriff was absent, no doubt seeking some intangible evidence that would either prove her friend's innocence or her enemy's guilt.

Rumpelstiltskin sat beside his client, maintaining a neutral expression.

They were delivered back to the Sheriff's station by two of the D.A.'s wardens, and only when the cell door was locked and they were alone did Mary Margaret's resolve crack. She sank down to sit on the bunk, squeezing her hands together between her knees.

"A trial," she said in a small voice. "I didn't think it would get that far."

"Only scheduled," Rumpelstiltskin murmured. "You'll never see the inside of the courtroom, dear."

She looked up at him with such pitiful hope written all over her face. "You really think so?"

"I would be very surprised if the Sheriff doesn't find some new evidence very soon," he said, turning on his heel as the door swung inwards. It was the Sheriff herself, and she was accompanied by a stranger, which made Rumpelstiltskin pause where he stood. The man stopped dead in his tracks, fear written all over his face. 

Emma rushed over to the cell. "How'd it go?"

Mary Margaret smiled weakly. "I have a date," she said, "but if you can give me a reason to raincheck, I'd really appreciate it."

The smile that crossed the Sheriff's face was nervous, but optimistic. "We've got a lead," she said. "We need to look into it, but I think we've found some evidence."

"We?" Rumpelstiltskin said, still watching the man. He was young. Older than Emma, but still fairly young. He was also watching Rumpelstiltskin guardedly, as if he knew exactly who he was looking at. That made Rumpelstiltskin wary, but it wasn't impossible that a mind or two had slipped through the curse's grasp. "Who is 'we'?"

Emma waved the man over. "August Booth," she said, "Mark Gold." She shot a brief smile at the man. "He's been helping me out." She met Gold's eyes, not without defiance. "I needed a new perspective."

Rumpelstiltskin narrowed his eyes, studying the man. "I don't recall seeing you around town before," he said. 

"I've stopped by before," the man, Booth, said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Emma, I gotta go. You'll keep me updated?"

She nodded, then raised her hand in greeting as Sidney Glass entered the office, a vase of flowers in his hands. The two men side-stepped one another in the doorway. Sidney approached, then paled at the sight of Rumpelstiltskin, who offered him a thin, sharp smile. 

"My, my," he said dryly. "We're positively overflowing with shifty characters today, aren't we?"

"Behave, Gold," Emma said sternly, heading towards Sidney.

Rumpelstiltskin smirked, then nodded to Mary Margaret. "Chin up, dearie. You'll be out soon enough if the Sheriff has anything to say about it."

She smiled weakly. "Thank you."

He inclined his head, then set out towards the door. Glass avoided his eyes, staring down at his flowers, and Rumpelstiltskin had to hide a grim smile as the man trembled. The reek of alcohol was lingering around the man. It was astonishing what guilt would do to a man who had killed without remorse or care in another lifetime.

Rumpelstiltskin emerged into daylight and looked around.

He was unsurprised to spot the Sheriff’s… associate skulking a short distance away. The moment he noticed Rumpelstiltskin, he turned and walked around the nearest building, out of sight. Rumpelstiltskin tapped a fingertip on the handle of his cane. 

It did not do to make him curious.

No one in Storybrooke was a stranger to him, and no visitor who came to Storybrooke - few and far between - ever stayed anonymous for long. 

He walked down the steps and in the same direction as the errant stranger, thinking on what he knew of the man: he was young, only a little older than the Saviour; he knew something about who Mark Gold really was, judging by the trepidation that crossed his face; he could pass freely in and out of Storybrooke.

The curse had been fixed.

Only two could have escaped, if he were to believe the whispers of his sources. He had ensured that one of those two would be Emma Swan, but it had surprised him that neither her mother or father had accompanied her.

Unless…

The possibility made Rumpelstiltskin’s already fragile heart shudder.

It couldn’t be Bae.

Bae was never, ever afraid of him, even when he was at his worst. The fear in the man’s eyes crushed whatever hope he had held that his son had chosen to walk back into his life. 

He returned to his shop, but kept a close eye on the street. The man, this August Booth, walked briskly by, in the direction of the woods and Rumpelstiltskin smiled. Booth no doubt thought he was safe and secure in his hiding hole, but now that he had left it, Rumpelstiltskin knew he would find information there. 

Granny either did not notice or chose not to question his presence as he made his way into the guest house. In many years of life, he had learned any skill he had considered useful, and one of those guided the lock picks in his hands. The door clicked quietly open and he slipped in, closing the door behind him.

There were papers, piled of sketches and notes. 

Rumpelstiltskin barely skimmed through them, recognising the stories as those that were missing from young Henry’s book. So, this was their mysterious writer, was it? He turned his attention to the room, to any clues who the man might be.

The only thing that caught his eye was a small, hand-carved wooden donkey. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It seemed an odd trinket for a grown man to carry with him, and the craftsmanship was familiar. 

There were footfalls on the stairs. 

Rumpelstiltskin withdrew to the corner of the room, knowing he would be hidden by the door when it opened inward. He had not intended to confront the man so soon, but if that was what was to be, then that was what he would do. 

Booth walked in, and slammed the door behind him. He was staggering, Rumpelstiltskin noticed, and he crumpled to sit on the chest at the foot of the bed, rubbing his calf. The leg of his trouser rode up, showing a sliver of something that wasn’t flesh beneath.

Ah. 

He shifted his weight, the floorboard creaking beneath his foot. Booth’s pale eyes rose and Rumpelstiltskin was pleased to notice the sudden terror that crossed his features as he warily sat up. 

“Mr Gold… right?”

Rumpelstiltskin put his head to one side. “Oh, come now,” he said, “We don’t need to play games. Mr Gold is so formal.” He leaned forward with a small, chilly smile. “Why don’t you use my name?”

Booth made a brave effort to look confused. “I don’t under…”

“Tch!” Rumpelstiltskin raised a hand sharply, and Booth flinched, as if expecting to be carved down by a spell. “I’ve seen what you’ve been writing, boy. Don’t imagine I don’t know the truth. Now, shall we begin again, Pinocchio?”

The man’s expression turned waxen. “How…”

Rumpelstiltskin tossed the wooden donkey to him. “Your father’s handiwork.” He allowed his mouth to turn up in the slightest of smiles. “Who else would be so attached to a pitiful piece of wood?”

Booth - Pinocchio - leaned back against the end of the bed. “What do you want?” he asked in a tight voice. He met Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes with defiance. “I’m here to help the Saviour believe. You can’t stop me.”

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. “You’re a little late, aren’t you, dearie?” he said, admiring the humiliated flush that flooded Booth’s face. He tapped the foot of his cane on the floor. “It seems you have been ill-advised. We aren’t working at cross-purposes.”

The man’s eyes widened. “You want the curse broken?”

“Perhaps,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, unwilling to give him more information. “But in the meantime, I believe you can make yourself more useful than you have thus far.”

“How?” Pinocchio asked warily. 

“By staying in my good graces,” Rumpelstiltskin said. He walked closer. “If you want to live to see the curse broken, then you can do a little job for me.” He smiled, thin-lipped. “If you want to be a hero.”

Pinocchio stared at him. Rumpelstiltskin could read his face like a book. This was the man who was meant to have led the Saviour, but instead, he had abandoned her to the foster system in a cruel world. Now, he wasn’t the only one with amends to make.

“What do I have to do?” he asked.

 

________________________________________________________

 

 

The evidence vanished.

Rumpelstiltskin wondered at the wisdom of a Sheriff who found evidence by means of an illegal search, then was surprised when said evidence was safely hidden when the search was carried out legally. Miss Swan was so naïve when it came to the malice with which Regina played with her. 

Mary Margaret’s fragile faith in her daughter shattered like glass beneath a hammer.

Rumpelstiltskin watched in silence as Miss Blanchard was cuffed. The woman wouldn’t even look at the Sheriff as she was led out of the station by the D.A.’s court marshalls. Emma turned on him like a tigress.

“You told me you could fix this,” she said flatly. “That’s why I came to you: so that you could make sure Regina didn’t win.”

Rumpelstiltskin contained a knowing smile. “She hasn’t yet.”

“She’s going to,” Emma snapped, “and now my friend is going to pay for me trusting you.”

“Sheriff,” he murmured, “I know this is emotional, but it’s also not over.” He leaned closer, conspiratorial. “You must have faith. There’s still time.”

“Time for what?” she said, anger etched in her eyes.

He smirked. “For me to work a little magic,” he replied. Smoke and mirrors and illusions, the most simple of tricks. With a jaunty nod of his head, he turned and walked out of the door, pausing on the step to take a breath.

It was the stillness before the plunge.

All the pieces were lined up to come into play. The pawns Regina believed sacrificed were making their way quietly across the board. The white Knight was striding out, sword arm raised. The black Queen didn’t realise the game had been changed while her focus was on the white King and Queen.

He wasn’t sure what piece that made him.

Perhaps Emma was right. Perhaps he played diagonally.

He set out for the shop.

All the better to be out of the way when the news broke, as if he had no part in what was about to happen. All the better to school his expression and feign surprise. If he was lucky, her Majesty would believe him.

The door crashed inwards some half an hour later.

“What the hell is going on?” Regina snarled.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced up from the accounts. “I would have thought you would be attending the trial, your Majesty,” he said mildly, laying down his pen, “not harassing a lowly shop keeper.”

“Trial?” She laughed wildly. “You already know there is no trial!”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her. He always had been a good actor and he knew his alarm looked convincing. “What?” he said, leaning heavily against the counter. His heart was pounding painfully, but it wasn’t shock. If he played this wrong, if she knew, then Rose would be in danger, and that was enough to make him pale and shaken. “But the girl was taken to the court. The evidence was all against her. I made sure of it!”

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “Then explain how Kathryn Nolan was found alive and well?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s breath rasped, and it wasn’t entirely an act. “She drank your poison, your Majesty,” he said, his voice low. “I made sure it was all in the food you left. She took it all. If you don’t believe me, ask your Mirror. He helped me bury the damned woman.”

“You’re lying,” she snarled.

He leaned across the counter, eyes blazing. “Give me a damned good reason why I would lie, your Majesty,” he retorted icily. “You’ve made it quite clear what the price would be if I betrayed you, and unlike you, that’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

“Then explain,” she hissed. “Explain how she’s alive.”

“The only part that I had nothing to do with was your poison,” he retorted. “As far as I could see, she was dead and she was buried. The only answer is that your potion failed.”

Her face paled. “It was a powerful poison,” she said.

He stared at her. “From this world?” he asked. “Or the last?”

Regina’s expression crumpled for barely a second. “The last,” she whispered. 

Rumpelstiltskin pressed his fingertips to his temples. “You know this world,” he said, forcing his voice to remain clipped and tight, even though he was exultant. “You know how unpredictable magics can be, even potions. And you gave me one from our world.”

“It should have worked.” She sounded uncertain. “It was preserved.”

He shook his head. “You know the rules, dear,” he said. “This is a world without magic. Don’t you think even the slightest of magics in a potion would be taken into account?” He looked at her blankly. “I did what you asked. You can’t lay this at my feet.”

A dozen emotions warred on her face, and she shook her head. “You should have brought me her heart,” she said, her voice dull with exhausted rage. She pushed away from the counter and turned away. “You should have done it properly.”

He watched her walking, stiff-legged, towards the door. She would always lay the blame at the hands of another. Even if the poison had truly failed, she would have found some way to blame him. It was in her nature. Too many years of being guiltless meant that real guilt came hard to her.

Rumpelstiltskin laid his hands on the counter.

He would be blamed and Rose would be accountable.

As the door closed behind the Queen, he smiled. 

Sometimes, Regina’s predictability made planning a counter attack far too easy.


	12. Chapter 12

The hospital was buzzing with the tale of the resurrected Nolan.

Rumpelstiltskin walked through the halls, looking out for the Sheriff. He knew he had little to no right to be present, but he already had used the excuse that he was Mary Margaret’s lawyer, and so, he should be allowed to inspect the newly-discovered corpse.

Said corpse was in a private room, and appeared to be asleep.

She wasn’t alone.

Rose was sitting by the bed, talking quietly to the Sheriff. He was alarmed to see she had vicious-looking scratches in her forearms, as if she had been clawed by a wildcat. One of her hands was resting by Kathryn’s, and he noticed that every time Kathryn stirred or whimpered softly in her sleep, Rose clasped her hand.

It presented a reassuring picture to the Sheriff.

He tapped lightly on the door.

Sheriff Swan looked around from Rose, a frown creasing her brow, then rose and emerged from the room, folding her arms over her chest. “Is this when you say ‘I told you so’?” she said, her voice rough with tiredness.

“This is when I ask what the hell is going on,” he said. “The last I heard, Mrs Nolan’s heart was verified as not being in her body. Unless I’m very much mistaken, the woman in that bed has a pulse.”

The Sheriff still had humour enough to snort at that. “Well-spotted,” she said dryly. “What gave it away? The breathing? Or the fact she walked in here with your ex?”

Rumpelstiltskin paused. The plan had been loose, admittedly. Rose was to tell Kathryn, and Kathryn was to stumble into town from the forest, as if she had been abandoned there. “Rose found her?”

“Uh-uh,” Emma said, shaking her head. She nodded into the room. “Mrs Gold was out on an overnight camp. Something about getting out of town and away from jackasses - I figured she was talking about you - overnight and Mrs Nolan came crashing into her tent, hysterical and covered in dirt.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her. “What?”

The Sheriff’s expression turned harder. “Buried alive, Gold,” she said. “Drugged and left for dead in a shallow grave."

Rumpelstiltskin looked into the private ward. Kathryn looked thinner than she had, and he could see that her hands were bandaged. So this was the plan concocted in his absence.?He wanted to applaud them both for their nerve. "Is there any permanent damage?" he asked.

"Apart from the trauma of crawling out of a grave and stumbling through the woods for several days?" Emma rocked on the balls of her feet. "She's dehydrated and has gone without food for a few days, but apart from that, the doctors say she'll be fine physically."

"And mentally?"

Emma glanced at him. "She won't let Rose out of her sight," she said. "I think she feels safer with her there."

He hid a tight little smile. So they were protecting one another, now they were both open targets. There was something comforting in that. "And the doctors don't mind?"

"Given how much Kathryn started panicking when Rose was asked to leave the room, I don't think they'll complain," she said. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Rose calmed her down enough so they didn't have to sedate her, but it'll be a while before she can say what happened."

He was silent for a moment. "Miss Blanchard has been freed, then?"

Abruptly, she was looking at him, sudden suspicion in her eyes. "Yes," she said slowly. "She has." She stepped closer to him. "You said you were going to work a little magic. Did you know she was out there?"

He looked at her, eyes narrowed. "What are you accusing me of?" he asked coolly. "Do you believe I'm capable of abducting a woman? Of carrying her into the woods and burying her, just for her to emerge at the opportune moment?" He shook his head. "You give me too much credit. Even if I wanted to, I'm hardly capable of dragging a woman off anywhere."

She looked him over, then nodded ruefully. "It's just... convenient," she admitted. "You insisting Mary Margaret would be fine, and now, she is." She looked back into the room. "This isn't exactly how a murder case usually goes."

Rumpelstiltskin gave her a brief, drawn smile to let her know her accusation had not been taken personally. "Quite understandable." He glanced into the room just as Rose looked across at the window, and he averted his gaze. "Pass my regards on to both of them. I hope they will feel safer here."

"Don't you worry," Emma said, a fierce gleam in her eyes. "No one is getting to Kathryn again."

The mantle of protection over one covered both, which was reassuring.

He inclined his head. "I don't doubt it," he said. "If you'll excuse me?"

She nodded curtly and walked back into the ward, closing the door behind her.

 

__________________________________________________

 

“Crawled out of the grave.”

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged his shoulders. “So they say,” he said. He was sitting opposite Regina, her desk between them, and she leaned back in her chair, staring at him from dark expressionless eyes. “The woman was covered in scratches and bruises. Quite terrified. I doubt she’ll be coherent any time in the near future.”

Regina tapped her nails on the arm of the chair, her gaze unblinking. “It would be better if she wasn’t at all,” she said finally.

Rumpelstiltskin snorted. “Good luck,” he said. “The Sheriff was babysitting last I checked, and I have a feeling she’s not about to let Mrs Nolan get murdered again.” He met her eyes and smiled slightly. “After all, it worked so well last time you tried.”

“You had one job,” Regina said tartly. “Kill her and get rid of the body. You failed.”

“Your poison was the thing that failed, dear,” he said quietly. He could see her temper fraying by degrees, and knew it was necessary to push her to foolishness. “I did everything you asked me to. She was taken care of. She was buried.” He leaned closed. “We had a deal, your Majesty.”

“Is Snow White gone?” she asked.

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twitched back from his teeth. “No.”

She leaned forward, and though he knew it was showing weakness, he leaned back. Better to retreat and keep her off-balance. “Did she leave Storybrooke?”

“No,” he said grimly.

“Is Kathryn dead?”

“No.”

Regina rose so sharply that her chair slammed back against the wall behind her. “Then how can you say that you have lived up to your side of the deal?” she said, leaning on the desk, her hands clenched into tight fists.

He breathed in, then out, slowly. It wouldn’t help to lose his temper. “I said I would do as you asked me,” he said through gritted teeth. “I did. Snow White was jailed. She was going to be found guilty. She was separated from her loved one. She was betrayed by her friend. She would have left Storybrooke, if not for the Sheriff. I did everything you asked me.”

“You didn’t do enough,” she snarled, baring her teeth. “Kathryn is alive. If she tells them who sent her to the forest that day, if that woman realises that the heart results were faked, who do you think will be blamed?”

He rose suddenly, satisfied to note that she shied back. Still afraid of him, weak and frail as he was. That was good. “We had a deal.” He leaned close, a hand braced on the desk. “You know what happens when someone breaks a deal with me, dearie,” he murmured through barely parted lips. “Do you really want to make an enemy of me?”

“You want your little Belle alive?”

He smiled, small and fleeting. “You make any moves to harm her, dear, and it will return on you tenfold,” he said. He put his head to one side. “Do you want to risk everything you’ve built just to punish me for your mistake?”

Regina was breathing raggedly, her hands clenching and unclenching by her sides. “You have no power here,” she said, her voice tight and clipped. “What makes you think I’m afraid of anything you can do to me?”

He smiled quietly. “No power? I think you mean no magic, dear. And power… well, power is something else entirely.” He straightened up and adjusted his tie. Smiled. “Knowledge is power, and that, I have in abundance.”

She stalked around the desk. "And just what are you going to do, Rumpel?" she sneered. "Tell the Sheriff the truth? That you abducted and attempted to murder that woman? That Sidney helped you? That it was all on my orders? Where's your evidence?"

He gazed at her placidly, smiling just enough to worry her. "Why would I tell you?" he said. "You've made it abundantly clear that whatever I say or do on your orders is irrelevant to you. Why should I explain myself?" He leaned closer to her, their faces so close he could feel each panted, furious breath. "Don't cross me, dear."

"You broke our deal," she said, her voice low and shaking, "not me."

His mouth was smiling, even if his eyes weren't. "I've broken one deal in my life," he said quietly, "and it certainly wasn't this one." He lifted his hand to tilt her chin up with his fingertip. "Please keep away from Rose or Belle or whatever you choose to call her."

She bared her teeth at him. "You bastard."

He stepped back and bowed elegantly. "Your Majesty."

 

__________________________________________

 

War had been declared.

There was no fire fight, no weapons, no magic, but it was war nonetheless. 

Sidney inexplicably confessed to waylaying Kathryn within three hours of Rumpelstiltskin's meeting with Regina. He provided some cock and bull story about wanting to break the biggest story to ever hit Storybrooke, in hopes he could rejuvenate his career as a reporter. 

Rumpelstiltskin wished he could have been there to see the look on the Sheriff's face.

He had his suspicions as to why Regina was diverting Miss Swan with Glass. She presumed that Kathryn would be left unprotected, but she had not realised that Rose was standing guard over Kathryn herself. With his request echoing in her ears, Regina wouldn't be able to go anywhere near the room, even if she wanted to. With Sidney locked up, her choice lackey would be unable to do her dirty work.

Naturally, that meant her target would change, and he expected it.

If they hadn't been interrupted by the Sheriff at City Hall, he knew she would have flown at him and torn at his face with her perfect nails. 

His shop was naturally his most defensible environ. He knew it well, and there was clutter enough to alert him should anyone try to break in, whether through the back or front doors. All the same, he locked each door securely and retreated into the quiet of the back of the shop, one of his guns lying easily to hand on the table as he went through the books. 

The next move would be Regina's, and only once she made it would he make his own.

It was dark outside when the telephone shrilled. There had been no sign of the Queen, which surprised him. He picked up the receiver, laying his other hand lightly over the gun just in case she was choosing to divert him before attacking.

"Gold?"

Rumpelstiltskin frowned. "Pinocchio."

The man on the other end of the line sighed with relief. "I hoped you'd still be there. You might want to get down to the hospital."

Rumpelstiltskin's heart thumped painfully. "The Queen...?" he asked, rising.

"No," Pinocchio replied. "Someone else. Someone who seems to remember more than he should." There was a faint groan, then an audible thump. "I thought you might want to talk to him, since he was trying to reach the girl."

It felt like a hand had tightened around Rumpelstiltskin's heart. 

"Where are you?" he asked, his voice rougher than he would have liked.

"A store closet in the same corridor as Mrs Nolan's room," Pinocchio replied. "No hurry. He's not going anywhere."

Rumpelstiltskin was on his way within five minutes.

He found the storage room easily enough, and when he knocked, Pinocchio opened the door. He looked like he had been in a fight, his lip swollen and one eye puffing towards bruised. "He wasn't too pleased that someone tried to stop him," he said, letting Rumpelstiltskin into the small room.

Another man was lying facedown on the floor, dressed in a nurse's uniform, hands bound behind his back with a roll of gauze. There was an impressive swelling on his brow, and from the looks of it, he was only just beginning to return to consciousness. 

Pinocchio rolled the man onto his back with one foot. Rumpelstiltskin's eyebrows rose. He recognised the man, in spite of the plain hospital scrubs he was wearing. 

"Well, well," he murmured. "I wondered where he had found himself." He pressed the tip of his cane lightly to the man's throat, prepared to press down if necessary. "What was he doing?"

"He said he was bringing them tea," Pinocchio replied, his arms folded over his chest. "I know for a fact the Sheriff only cleared three nurses to go in to check on them. I told him he wasn't allowed in and he didn't take that well." Green eyes met Rumpelstiltskin's. "You wanted her safe. This guy..." He gave the groaning man a prod with his foot. "Let's just say he didn't give off a helpful nurse vibe." 

The man's eyes flickered open and he squinted at Rumpelstiltskin. What colour was left in his face drained away.

"Good evening, Jefferson," Rumpelstiltskin murmured, smiling thinly. "I think it's time we had a little chat."


	13. Chapter 13

Rumpelstiltskin sat on the bale of sealed bandages, using his handkerchief to methodically clean the blood from the handle of his cane. There wouldn’t be any permanent damage. He had been too careful for that.

Jefferson was propped against the wall. Blood was trickling from his nose and dripping down onto his shirt. 

“Are you sure that’s everything?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, tilted the handle of the cane to the light. “Child separated, Sheriff drugged, Blanchard abducted, non-functioning hat, and now, the Queen offering a deal?”

The man bared his teeth. They were turning pink with blood from a busted lip. “Big news is that you remember,” he said, scowling. “She wouldn’t have let you do that.”

“He’s right,” Pinocchio murmured. He was leaning against the door, his sleeve rolled up over a wooden arm which had served as a decent weapon. “You never explained how you, out of everyone in Storybrooke, can remember.”

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin agreed. “I didn’t.” He looked at Jefferson, shook his head. “You’re chasing a unicorn. A deal with her Majesty isn’t worth the air breathed to create it. Even if you do what she asked, she’ll still wriggle out of giving you your dues.”

The man glared at him. “She promised me,” he said.

“And she promised me many things too,” he replied, setting the tip of his cane down on the floor and leaning over it. “She promised that the girl you just tried to poison would be safe and unharmed.” He smiled without showing a single tooth. “So you can see why I might be a little cynical when it comes to her Majesty.”

“You didn’t do what she wanted,” Jefferson snarled, lunging towards him. The tip of Rumpelstiltskin’s stick caught him in the throat, pushing him back, pinning him to the wall.

“I did exactly what she wanted,” he replied coolly. “You know who I am, boy. You know that my deals are binding.” He drew his cane back and the realm jumped crumpled, gasping, to the floor. “I don’t break my word.”

Jefferson snorted contemptuously. “You’re going to try and buy me from her now?” he said. “You know you don’t have the power to break the curse. You know only the Sheriff, the Saviour, can do anything about it.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled slightly. “Of course,” he said, “and she’s very close now.”

The madman gave a shout of laughter. “It’s never going to happen!” he said. “Have you seen that woman? She goes around with a blindfold on! It’s right there, right in front of her, so close she can taste it, but she doesn’t see it! How blind can anyone be?”

“I don’t know,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured. “Why don’t we ask the man who helped the Queen when she has already betrayed him more times than I care to number?”

Jefferson narrowed his eyes. Had he been any more feral, he would have growled.

“You really don’t think Emma can be convinced?” Pinocchio said.

Jefferson’s crazed eyes rose to him. “She doesn’t believe in magic,” he said bitterly. “She doesn’t believe in anything.” He rose on unsteady legs, bracing his hand against the wall, leaving a bloody palm print. “If she doesn’t believe in magic, what chance has she got of breaking the curse.”

Rumpelstiltskin laughed quietly. “You children,” he said, rising from his seat, “you never understood magic at all, did you? You never understood why some people succeed and others fail.” He stepped closer to Jefferson. “Unlike you, Miss Swan is a hero,” he said quietly, “and heroes only prevail when all is lost and all the odds are stacked against them.” 

He caught the man by the throat, squeezed. Jefferson gagged, clawing at his hands and wrists, but Rumpelstiltskin ignored the blood welling up. 

“Miss Swan will break the curse,” he said. “We will all get what we want. But now, you and I going to make a deal, dearie, and you had better not break it.” Terror flickered in Jefferson’s eyes and he shook his head as much as he could. “Oh, come, come. You made a deal with one devil. Why not make it a matched set?” 

“Wh-what?” Jefferson rasped out.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. “It’s quite simple, really,” he said. “If you do exactly as I tell you from this moment forward, I won’t pay your dear little girl a visit.” He smiled as Jefferson cursed and lashed out at him. A sharp blow from the cane earned a whimper. “You came near that which is mine, dearie. You would have killed her. Why should I show your child any mercy, when you would have turned on something that is mine?”

Jefferson’s rasping breath was the only sound in the small room. Rumpelstiltskin opened his hand and let the man crumple to his knees. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” he said hoarsely. “If I can’t trust her, how can I possibly trust you?”

“Ask anyone,” Rumpelstiltskin said with a knowing little smile. “No one breaks a deal with me, and I never break a deal with anyone.” He jerked his head towards Pinocchio. “This one knows my tale. He knows the value of my word.”

Jefferson’s eyes darted to Pinocchio, then back. “And if I refuse?”

“You can’t begin to imagine what I could do to your daughter,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, his voice thick with promise. “I have been alive a very, very long time, little Hatter. I have seen great and terrible things.” He bent closer. “Do you want her to see them too?”

Jefferson shook his head desperately. “You swear she won’t be harmed?”

“As long as you do what I tell you to,” Rumpelstiltskin replied. “And when you are not doing those tasks, you stay with Pinocchio.” He smiled thinly. “I suspect our little wooden boy may need some help in the coming days.”

Pinocchio grimaced. “Thanks for the reminder.” He unfolded his arms. “So what’s the plan?”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. “We’re going to give the Sheriff a little push in the right direction.”

“I already told you…” Jefferson began.

“This isn’t to do with magic, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin said, smiling quietly. He knew Miss Swan had gone after her mother. He knew that she would go after Henry for the same reason, and that would be the trigger to begin the war. All she needed was the nudge. “This is something much more powerful.”

 

____________________________________________________

 

 

The Hatter was sent back to the Queen.

He was under the instruction to continue his work under her banner, though the man was so unstable that Rumpelstiltskin suspected he might crack before he could do anything that would be genuinely useful. 

His altercation with Pinocchio was explained as a bodyguard put in place by the Sheriff, which would - if he lied well enough - cover Rumpelstiltskin’s hand in the affair.

On the whole, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t trust the man as far as he could spit, but he trusted enough in the fear for a beloved child. It was amazing the things a parent would do, simply to protect their little one.

That was the fear he was playing on for Emma.

Kathryn spoke to her the following day, surprisingly coherent if the whispers about town were to be believed. Even with Sidney placing his head on the block, Mrs Nolan pointed the finger at his puppet master. She insisted that he had talked about Regina, that Regina was to blame, and as much as everyone wanted to believe her, there was no physical evidence.

All the same, it served its purpose.

Rumpelstiltskin was working in his shop when the Sheriff came storming in.

“Gold!”

He raised a hand, making her stumble to silence as he finished the notations he was making in his daybook. That done, he laid down the pen and raised his head to look at her. “Sheriff Swan,” he murmured. “How can I be of assistance?”

“You’re a lawyer, right?”

He smiled fleetingly. “Well remembered,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re in trouble with the law.”

She stalked this way and that, hands on her hips. “Of course not,” she said. “Do you… what do you know about family law?” He raised his eyebrows, allowing his expression to ask the question. “You know what I mean. In cases of adoption, is there any right for the biological parents to try and regain custody when the child might be in danger?”

He folded his hands on the counter. “You believe Henry is in danger?”

She looked at him, and for a moment, she looked lost, frightened. “You’ve met Regina, right? I’m not imagining just how crazy that psychotic bitch is being.”

“You’re certainly not imagining anything,” he murmured, “but as I recall, you asked for the closed adoption. That means any custody battle will tend to her favour.” He gazed at her. “Do you believe yourself capable of being a parent, with all that it entails?”

She paused, staring blankly at the mobile of crystal unicorns. She touched it with one hand, sending it gently spinning. “Does anyone?” she asked quietly. She drew herself up, turned, looked at him. “I just want Henry to be happy and healthy and safe. I can’t… see that, if Regina keeps on waging this war against me and the people I care about.”

“I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong man,” he said, watching her watch the mobile that should have been hers. “Even if I wanted to, you’re asking me about a side of the law that is out of my reach. I don’t… deal well with family matters.”

Emma turned, looked at him. “You’re the guy who can fix everything around here,” she said. She sounded tired, frustrated.

“Not this,” he replied. “This is between you and Regina. I can’t help you.”

Emma’s shoulders sagged and she swore under her breath. She looked at him, and for a moment, she was a lost child. “What can I do?”

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at her. “You know what you need to do,” he said. “You know the only way to stop Regina fighting against you.” Emma was the reasonable one, after all. She was the one who would surrender her child for his own well-being. Rumpelstiltskin knew her type, and he also knew that it would never, ever be enough for Regina. 

Emma exhaled, then nodded. “Yeah.” She rubbed her forehead, then looked up at him again, her expression calm. “I’ll make sure your wife’s safe. Her and Kathryn. Get someone in here who can’t be told what to do.”

“Very considerate of you,” he observed quietly.

She looked at him with her mother’s eyes. “Henry has to be safe. Someone else, someone who doesn’t have any ties to him, will be able to go at her in ways I can’t. Someone with more authority than an ex-bail bondswoman.”

“I think you underestimate your strength,” he said, pressing his fingertips together. “All the same, I understand your concerns and I’m sorry I can’t be of more aid.” He pushed up from the counter. “Perhaps speak to the boy’s therapist, then make your decision. You don’t want to do anything rash.”

She nodded, touching the crystal unicorn again. “Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “You might be right.”

 

_________________________________________________________

 

It seemed he was considered a veritable font of knowledge.

Less than twelve hours after Emma paid him a visit, the Queen herself strode into the shop, eyes ablaze. Whether down to Jefferson’s failure at the hospital, Sidney’s pitiful displays at the jail or another matter were yet to be determined. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he murmured.

She stalked towards him. “My tree is dying,” she said, setting down a rotten apple on top of the maps and journals spread out in front of him. “Why?”

He couldn’t help himself. “Perhaps it’s your fertiliser,” he said mildly.

“You think this is funny?” She leaned on the counter, narrowing her eyes at him. “Well, I’ll tell you what I think: I think it’s a sign of the curse weakening, because of Emma.” She paused, awaited a response, but he didn’t even deign to look at her. “But do you care? No. You’re content to just sit back and do whatever it is you’re doing, while all my hard work burns.”

“That’s not all, is it?” he murmured, watching her. A tender wound only needed a little salt. “Come on. You might as well get everything off your chest.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped.

“Henry,” he replied, twisting a pen between his fingertips. “Miss Swan wants him.”

“She’ll have that boy over my dead body,” she replied, approaching the desk. “She came to you, didn’t she? What did you offer her?”

He set down the pen on the maps. “I didn’t offer her anything,” he murmured. “You still have something of mine in your sights. I could tell Miss Swan what she needs to know, but we both know that would be signing Belle’s death warrant.” 

She smiled as if she hadn’t already sent an assassin. “Well, well, Rumpel,” she purred. “I see you’re finally learning to play by my rules.” She folded her arms, resting her elbows on the counter. “What do you have in mind?”

“Fire Rose,” he said flatly. “I want her back with her father. She should have been there all the time. Let her be. Don’t bother her. Don’t upset her.”

“And in exchange?”

He folded a map one-handed. “In exchange, I don’t give Emma access to all the laws that a biological parent can use to take a child back from an adoptive one,” he replied. “That’s what she came to me for. That’s what she wants.” He reached under the counter, withdrew a folder, and placed it in front of her. “This is what she would need. I’ll give you this in exchange for Rose’s freedom.”

Regina looked at it hungrily. “This is all that would stand between her and Henry?”

He nodded. “She could find it, if she went to a lawyer outside of Storybrooke,” he said, “but here and now, I’m all she’s got.” He met her eyes. “Rose or Belle or whoever she is, she’s worth more to me right now than the Saviour.”

She laughed. “How sentimental, Rumpel,” she said, laying her hand on the folder.

His hand came down hard on hers. “She’s safe?”

Regina looked at him and nodded. “She’s safe,” she said. “As long as you don’t tell the Miss Swan anything that can help her take my son.”

He nodded curtly. “I have no intention of telling her anything of the kind.”

Regina picked up the file with a smile. “Good.”


	14. Chapter 14

The shop was unusually busy, three days in a row.

First the Sheriff, then the Queen, and now...

Rumpelstiltskin noted down a map reference and looked up. Rose was locking the door, and she turned the sign to closed. He could see a crumpled piece of paper bunched in her fist. It was a good excuse for her to come by, though he was impressed that Kathryn had let her out of sight.

"Rose."

She approached the desk, offering him a small, tired smile. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. "Hey." She placed the paper on the counter, smoothing it out. "It looks like I was fired from City Hall. Do you have any idea why that might have happened?"

"Bribery is a powerful thing," he admitted freely. "I didn't want you to be in danger."

She shook her head with a rueful smile. "I think I'm pretty safe," she said. "The Sheriff's got guards on rotation at the hospital when I'm not with Kathryn, and when I said I wanted to go home and visit dad, she drove me herself." She looked down at the letter then back at him. "You know she's thinking of leaving town, don't you?"

Rumpelstiltskin was relieved. It was one thing for her to speculate, but to know she'd talked to someone else about it meant it was more than mere conjecture. "She had mentioned it," he said. "I think she's worried that her enmity with Regina is getting out of hand."

"No shit, Sherlock," Rose said with a snort. "I was only there a few times, but I could see how much Regina loved that kid. She doesn't want to share with anyone." She drummed her fingers on the letter. "Mark, I don't think it'll be enough for Regina if Emma just leaves town. When it comes to Henry, she's not exactly restrained."

"I think Miss Swan is capable of taking care of herself," he demurred with a small smile. 

If rumours were abounding of the Sheriff's intent to leave, he knew Regina would be paranoid that she would be seeking legal advice elsewhere. Combined with the weakening of the curse, the Queen would have no option but to strike to keep her son and her town under her control.

Rose wrinkled her nose. "I hope you're right," she said. She looked around the counter, frowning. "Are you going somewhere?"

Rumpelstiltskin tapped a pen against one of the books. "I'm considering a little trip," he said. "I've been in Storybrooke for too long."

"Oh." It was said casually, so dismissive, but something in the inflection made him look up from his maps.

"Oh?"

She offered him a quick, too-bright smile. "You're right. I never figured you for the stay in Storybrooke kind."

Rumpelstiltskin's chest felt tight, as if bands of metal were closing around him. She thought he was going to leave her? "Rose," he started.

"Don't worry," she said with a shaking smile. "I always knew it wouldn't last."

"Rose!" he said again, more sharply, his breath growing ragged. "Rose, I have no intention of going anywhere without you."

Her eyes widened, startled. "W-what?"

He reached across the counter, gripping her hand so tightly it had to be hurting, but he had to know she was there, listening, hearing what he was saying. "I have to leave Storybrooke and soon," he said, "but I want you to come with me. Wherever I go, I want you there." His head was spinning and his chest was growing unbearably tight. "I don't ever want you to be apart from me."

She stared at him. For a moment, she looked like she was about to smile, and just as suddenly as the expression crossed her face, it was gone. "Jesus, Mark," she whispered. She pulled her hand free, taking a step back. "I-I don't think I can do this."

It took every bit of his self-control not to clutch his aching chest. "I love you."

There were tears bright in her eyes. "I know," she said, "but I can't drop everything, leave my home, when..." She trailed off with a helpless little shrug.

"When it's me," he said hoarsely. "When you don't know if I'll turn on you all over again."

She nodded, a tight jerk of her head. "I know you've changed," she whispered. "God knows I can see it. But abandon everything? Leave my father behind? Leave my home? All because you want to get out of Storybrooke? You didn't even ask me if I wanted it. You just... assumed." She wrapped her arms tightly across her middle. "I can't just abandon my family, Mark."

He looked back at her, and his voice cracked as he whispered, "Neither can I."

"I don't understand," she said, her voice tiny and fragile. "Mark, you don't have anyone else."

"You and my son," Rumpelstiltskin said, unable to meet her eyes. "I need to find my son."

"Holy shit," she breathed. "A son? You have a son? Just what else haven't you told me?"

He forced himself to breath in and out as deeply as he could. "You didn't need to know. No one needed to know."

It was the wrong thing to say.

Rose's fingers whitened around her arms. She would have bruises by morning. "I think I should go," she said quietly. "Thank you for watching my back, but I think I should go."

"Rose, don't," he said, his voice trembling. "Don't leave."

She smiled, but it was broken and her eyes were shadowed. "I love you, Mark," she said, "but I don't know you at all. I can't stay with someone I don't know."

She turned and walked towards the door. Rumpelstiltskin wanted to cry out, beg her to stay, do anything, but his body was failing him. She didn't hear the ragged gasps. She didn't see him fold over the counter, clutching his chest. She just walked out of the door without looking back, leaving him alone in the dark again, with nothing but a breaking heart.

 

___________________________________________________

 

The house felt much larger and much more empty than usual.

Rumpelstiltskin sat heavily on the couch.

His chest still ached and it had taken him nearly two hours to gather enough strength to make his way home from the shop. He felt weak, and he hated it. He remembered too many years of near-invincibility, and before that, years of simple mortality. Crippled, yes, but healthy. Being weak, being vulnerable, especially now, was terrifying.

When Rose left him, he was sure his heart was giving out. 

For close to an hour, he sat, propped against the counter, breathing hard and ragged. 

It gave him time to gather his thoughts, using them to distract himself from the pain lancing his chest. 

The curse was still tangled around her. That was the only explanation. For all her talk of love and his own talk of forever, he knew she wanted to be with him, but when she had backed away, when she had looked at him with fear and doubt, it was all Rose and no Belle. 

The curse took away the best of people. For him, it had taken away the little bit of decency he had left. For Rose...

It was devastating to see her without the courage that made her herself.

He was surprised that the curse had taken so long to twist her against the chance of happiness. He supposed it was her doubts, from the start. It couldn't be considered love and happiness, if she had doubts. The moment he had asked her to come with him, to be with him forever, that was when - for the first time - she realised that he truly loved her and the doubts were swept away.

She had been happy. She had started to smile. 

She had been happy and the curse sank its claws in and tore that happiness apart.

Rumpelstiltskin reached into the breast pocket of his coat, withdrawing a ring.

Ever since his memory had returned, he had carried it there. It was the ring she had worn while she had been his wife, before everything had fallen apart. The day he threw her out, she tore it from her finger and hurled it at him so hard that it gashed his cheek. At the time, he had laughed, but now, more than anything, he wanted to see it back on her finger. 

He turned it between his fingers. 

It was ridiculous and sentimental, but he had spun the gold himself, once upon a time. He had crafted the ring, never intending to use it, and in the new world, when the curse took hold, it was on Rose's finger. The magic was cruel. He had made sure of that.

The back door creaked open.

Rumpelstiltskin slipped the ring back into his pocket, then struggled to his feet. "Who's there?"

The kitchen door opened.

"You should get your lock checked," Jefferson said, stalking into the living room. "I barely had to use the crowbar to break it open."

Rumpelstiltskin sank back down to sit. "It wasn't locked," he said. It hadn't been since the first night Rose had smuggled herself into his bed. 

Jefferson looked at the crowbar in his hand, then shrugged and threw himself down onto the chair opposite Rumpelstiltskin, long legs splayed, the crowbar swinging casually from his hand. "Her Majesty called on me today," he said conversationally. "She had quite the little problem."

"Emma Swan?"

Jefferson nodded. "Something about the Saviour leaving to get help to take Henry," he said, yawning widely. "She didn't want to risk her coming back." His dark eyes fixed on Rumpelstiltskin's. "Did you know she had some magic left? All tucked away nicely and neatly?"

Rumpelstiltskin grimaced. "I suspected she might," he said. "Does she have a plan?"

Jefferson laughed. "Oh, she has more than a plan," he said. "She has an apple."

"An apple?" Rumpelstiltskin echoed, then laughed quietly. "Oh, yes. That sounds like her. Going back to what she knows."

Jefferson tilted his head curiously. "You know what she's planning? To poison the Saviour?"

"She has used that particular curse once before," Rumpelstiltskin murmured. "It didn't go as she planned then, and I have no doubt it will not go as she plans now. Snow White's family have a tendency to defy her, even when faced with the sleeping curse."

"You'd better be right," Jefferson said, a warning note in his voice. "You said the Saviour needs a push. I did what you asked. I helped the Queen. If you precious Saviour fails, then I'm taking what she offers me instead."

"The Saviour won't fail," Rumpelstiltskin said with certainty. It felt like the bands constricting his chest were finally easing. "It's in her blood."

Jefferson snorted. "A lot of good that'll do when she's hit with the Queen's curse."

"If, little Hatter," Rumpelstiltskin said. "If she's hit with the Queen's curse. She's not cursed yet."

The hatter twirled his crowbar idly. "It's too late for some already," he said. "Your little wooden boy can't stand guard anymore." 

Rumpelstiltskin had wondered how long Pinocchio could survive. "He's turned?"

"As near as makes no difference," Jefferson replied. "He can still breathe and speak for now, but he's not going anywhere, even if he wants to." He pushed himself to his feet. "I'll give your Saviour twenty-four hours. If she ends up cursed or leaves town with the curse unbroken, our deal is done. If you can't get me what I want, I know the Queen can."

Rumpelstiltskin's lips curled. "No one breaks a deal with me, dearie," he said, "and in this case, count yourself lucky that you won't have to."

Jefferson tossed his crowbar down onto the chair. "I'm not about to hold my breath," he said, then stalked out the door. 

Rumpelstiltskin waited until he was gone, then reached for the telephone. He picked it up, dialed. If Jefferson had just come from the Queen, she could still be on her way home. He held his breath, then sighed with relief when Henry's voice rang down the line.

"Hello?"

"Henry. I'm calling about Operation Cobra."

He could almost see the boy frowning. "Who is this?"

He smiled. "It's Rumpelstiltskin, my boy. I have a job for you."

 

 

___________________________________________________

 

 

The shop bell rang.

Rumpelstiltskin neither moved nor looked up. He was sitting on the stool at the counter, and to suit the mood, only the lamp there was lit. His hands were folded before him and he gazed at them, as if lost in thought, as the two arrivals approached his desk.

"Gold." The Sheriff's voice was strained.

He raised his eyes, smiled. 

She recoiled, startled, almost colliding with the Queen directly behind her. "What the hell happened to you?"

He sat up little by little. He was exhausted and he knew he looked it, grey in the face and haggard. Bringing the necessary tools up from the basement had drained him more than he liked. "Don't you recognise a dying man when you see one?" he murmured. He made a brief gesture with one hand. "It'll pass. All things do." He studied her. "Do I see a believer, dear?" 

"We need your help," she said with a nod.

"Ah, yes," he said. "I hear a tragic ailment has befallen young Mr Mills." He slanted a glance at Regina. "You know well enough that all magic comes at a cost."

"Henry shouldn't have to pay it," Regina said sharply. 

"No, he shouldn't," Rumpelstiltskin agreed, "you should, but we are where we are."

"Will you help us?" Emma interrupted. Us, he noticed. Two women who had fought over the child for so long were now fighting side-by-side. If only they had taken that path to begin with.

"Of course," he replied, brushing a dust cloth off the box on the counter. "True love, Miss Swan. It's the most powerful magic in all the land, the only magic powerful enough to break any curse." He met her eyes. "And I just happened to have bottled some."

He heard rather than saw Regina's shock. Why so surprised, dear? You knew I was more powerful than you. Who else could bottle true love? "You did?" 

Rumpelstiltskin kept his eyes on Emma. "Oh yes," he said. "From strands of your parents hair, I created the most powerful potion in all the realms. So powerful that when I created the Dark Curse, I put a single drop on the parchment. A little safety valve."

"That's why I'm the Saviour," Emma said, wide-eyed. "That's why I can break the curse."

"Now you're getting it," he agreed.

"I don't care about breaking the curse," she said. "All I care about is saving Henry."

"You're in luck," he said, hiding a smile. It was a necessary evil to send her to face the dragon, but a hero had to be tried first. They couldn't simply walk into a situation and kiss it better. "I didn't use all the potion. I saved some for a rainy day."

"Well, it's storming like a bitch," Emma said curtly. "Where is it?"

"Where it is isn't the problem," he said, unlatching the case on the counter. "Getting it is what should worry you."

"Enough riddles," Regina snapped. “What do we do?”

He looked at her patiently. “You do nothing. It has to be Miss Swan.” 

“He’s my son! It should be me.”

He gave her a condescending look. “With all due respect, but it’s her son, and it has to be her.” He looked at the frightened girl about to become a hero. “She’s the product of the magic. She must be the one to find it.”

"I can do it.”

“Don’t trust him,” Regina said, which he found deliciously ironic. 

Emma looked at her. “What choice to we have?”

“That’s right, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin said with a cool look in her direction. “What choice do you have? You brought us here, remember. A land without magic. You can froth and spit and snarl all you like, but you know how magic works.”

“Gold,” Emma cut in. “Where is this magic?”

He looked at Regina, Mayor and Queen and witch. No more masks. No more pretending. No more feigned alliance. "Tell me, your Majesty, is our friend still in the basement?"

"You twisted little imp! You hid it with her?"

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at her, the woman who had betrayed everyone who had cared for her in the forest, the woman who had maimed and killed and destroyed. "Not with her," he said. "In her." He smiled frostily at her. "I knew you couldn't resist bringing her across."

"Her?" Emma asked, looking between them. "Who's her?"

"Someone you should be prepared for," he said. He flipped open the lid of the case, the light glinting off polished metal. The blade was as sharp as the day the curse had been cast. “Where you’re going, you’ll need this.”

Emma stared at it. "What is that?" she said doubtfully.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled quietly. Too much, too soon. Better to keep her going before shock froze her entirely. "Your father's sword."


	15. Chapter 15

For people in a hurry to save their child, the Sheriff and the Queen were taking their time to get to the library.

Rumpelstiltskin drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel of his car. He knew he should be calm, with everything about to fall into place, but his body thought otherwise. All the rushing about had taken its toll, and he was drained, exhausted.

He was parked across the block, hidden in the shadow of one of the shops. He knew he had to have the car close, or else he would never get away from them. Miss Swan had a tendency to be doggedly persistent, and he knew he would never be able to outrun her.

The need for magic was becoming more urgent by the moment.

He had been jesting when he told her he was dying, but the pains stabbing low in his chest told him that it was not such a laughing matter. He massaged his chest gently with his fingertips, concentrating on breathing. If magic was returned, he could heal himself with a gesture. He could repair the damage and keep himself alive. 

At least he hoped it would be enough.

He withdrew Rose's ring from his pocket again, turning it over in his palm in the dim light from a distant street lamp. Even if she had never worn it, when she had been Belle, the ring had always been hers. It would be hers again, one way or another.

He glanced across at the library, and sighed with weary relief. Miss Swan and the Queen were at the doors.

Rumpelstiltskin slipped the ring back into his pocket and waited.

It would do no good to march in while Miss Swan was still on the surface.

He waited ten minutes, then emerged from his car. His head swam and he braced his hand against the roof, taking deep breaths to steady himself. It was fortunate the streets were deserted, so no one could see his weakness. He straightened up and forced himself towards the library.

The door was unlocked, and he pushed it open a crack. 

Regina was standing by an open elevator shaft, her arms folded across her chest. She looked worried, as well she might, and was so distracted watching for Miss Swan that she didn't even notice his arrival. He widened the gap and slipped into the main lobby of the library, then closed to door behind him with a click.

Regina spun around, startled. 

"Rumple?" She eyed him warily. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled at her without humour and motioned to the chair behind the counter. "Please take a seat, dear. Quietly, if you please. We're in a library."

She moved rigidly, fighting every step, and he knew he was desperate to use the word so hard one time upon another, but he had little time and even less energy. She sat down hard, her hands curling into white-rimmed fists by her sides. "You bastard."

He looked at her placidly. "Don't tell me you didn't see this coming, dearie," he murmured. "You have broken too many deals with me." He withdrew a roll of duct tape from his pocket and held it out to her. "Please secure yourself as best you can."

She snatched the tape. "You think I'm going to forget this?" she snarled.

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at her. "Do you think that matters anymore?" he asked quietly. "I'm dying. Belle is safe. The least I can do is make sure you're as miserable as I was for my whole damned life."

Regina stared at him. "You? Dying?"

"I'm a man, dearie," he said. "Men die." He looked down at the tape she was using to secure herself. "Before you try your other wrist, please tape your mouth shut. I don't want to hear anything else you have to say."

He could feel her eyes burning into him, but he ignored them. Instead, he dragged over one of the other broken chairs to sit close to the lift-shaft to wait. He remembered just how long it took the Sheriff's father to confront Maleficent, and knew he had time to catch his breath. 

Despite his best intentions, he must have drifted between sleep and unconsciousness. He was jerked sharply back to wakefulness by the rumbling of the elevator and he fumbled for the lever. It moved smoothly, and the car shuddered to a halt halfway up the shaft. 

"Regina?" Emma's voice was muffled. "What the hell was that? Regina?"

He waited a moment, heard her scuffling around, then looked out into the shaft. "Miss Swan?" he called down. “You’ve got it?”

"Gold?" She tilted her head back to look up at him. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled. “I’ve come to check on you,” he lied smoothly. “I’m glad I did. Regina’s abandoned you and sabotaged the elevator.”

She stared up at him in disbelief. “What?” She started scrambling up out of the elevator to scale the walls, the hefty golden egg clutched in one arm. “I’m coming up.”

“There’s no time,” he said, his heart thundering more than he would like. It hurt. Oh Gods, it hurt. But she had the magic in her hands. The magic that could save his life, the magic that could give him the time to find Bae, to apologise to him, to beg Belle’s forgiveness. “You can’t possibly scale the wall and carry that.”

“Oh yeah?” She was already on top of the car. “Well, I can try.”

“No, you can’t,” he said, forcing his voice to calm. “Just toss it up.” She looked at the egg, then back at him. Her son’s life in her hands, she believed. Her boy. “Your boy’s going to be fine,” he murmured. She had succeeded in the hero’s trials. She was ready to save him. “I promise.” She looked at him, and he could see, could tell, that she believed him. He softened his voice a little more, persuasive, calm, hiding his own desperation in magnanimity. “We’re running out of time. Now toss it up.”

She nodded. “You hold onto it,” she said. “I’ll be right up.”

The egg arced through the air and Rumpelstiltskin felt his breath hiss in his lungs when the cold metal landed in his hands. Safe. It was safe.

As fast as he could, as weak as he was, he ran, ran as he had from the ogres so many lifetimes ago. He was running for the same reasons: to save his own life and to see his boy, even just one more time. He ran, gasping, struggling, every step a labour, but he ran.

 

 

_____________________________________________________

 

It was all for nothing, it turned out.

He reached the car, pushed the blackness back from his vision long enough to fumble for the key, but all magic, even just the magic of words, came with a cost. All he had left was life, and egg and key crashed to the floor as pain tore through his chest.

He would have cried out, if he had breath left to do so. His fingers tore at his chest, as if he could stop the pain tightening there.

The floor rose to meet him, and it was all he could do to crumple against one of the cabinets, his cane clattering away out of reach. He slipped sideways, onto his side, small, short breaths cold in his mouth, dust in his eyes, spittle frothing at his lips.

So this was dying.

He could see the egg, so close, but still out of reach. The key too. And close to his face, where it had rolled from his breast pocket, Belle’s ring. It was so close to him that he could see his face, distorted, in the surface.

His vision blurred and he didn’t know if it was the dust in his eyes filling them with tears.

He could remember lifetimes ago, when a brave little boy held out his hand to make a deal, and when he had let that brave little boy’s hand go. He remembered clawing at the dirt, searching for the child he had abandoned the army for, the child he loved more than all the world, the child he had broken that world to find.

And years later, decades, centuries, a brave young woman, with bright eyes and no one to decide her fate but herself. She fell, he remembered, not just from the curtains, but from a tower. She died. She lied.

Rumpelstiltskin felt the hot tears spill over. He tried to move his arm, twitching and disobedient, and tried, tried, tried again to pick up the ring, but even that was too much. It slipped and fumbled between his fingers and a small, pitiful sob escaped him.

He could hear a bell.

Belle.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hand lying helplessly beside the ring. 

“Oh God! Mark!” Rumpelstiltskin was dragged onto his back, and he couldn’t see, couldn’t focus, but he felt small hands on his face, slapping him gently. “Mark! Mark! Wake up!” Fingers pressed to his throat. “Oh God. Don’t die on me, Mark. Don’t die.”

His eyelids flickered. They felt heavy, so heavy. “Belle?”

“It was the bell,” Rose whispered, stroking his cheek. “Some guy called, said you needed help.” She fumbled for her cell. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

He groped blindly for her wrist. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please. Do… do something…”

He could make out her face, her eyes, blue eyes, wet as his own. “Do something? Do what? What do you need me to do?”

“Egg,” he breathed out. “Egg and key…”

She laid him down and stared around. “oh! I see it!” He heard her scuffling about, heard the scrape of metal on stone and she was back beside him. “There’s a lock. Do you want me to open it?”

He closed his eyes. It was as much of a nod as he could manage. He needed energy, needed strength to speak. Breathed in, breathed out. Heard the rattle. Key in a lock. Heard her curse. Knew she saw.

“Mark,” she whispered. “Mark, what the hell is this?”

He forced his eyes open. “Magic,” he whispered. 

She was staring at the bottle. “You can’t be serious,” she breathed. “Mark…”

“Rose, please.” Every word was a struggle now. “Take it. You know the well. The old well.” She nodded, wide-eyed. “Please. Take it. Throw it in.” He looked at her, her face, her tears, her disbelief. Darkness was clouding the edges around her. “Please. Save me.”

“Mark, magic doesn’t exist.”

He wanted to sob, wanted to fall apart, but he didn’t even have life enough for that.

“Please,” he whispered again, so hoarse he could barely make out the words. “Please. Trust me.” The last word was little more than a breath. “Run.”

He couldn’t see her anymore. It was too dark, but he heard her sob, felt her lips on his, felt hot tears fall from her face, and knew she would be too late.


	16. Chapter 16

“Don’t you give up on me! Don’t you dare!”

Rumpelstiltskin drew a gasping breath, his eyes flying open. Every inch of his body was screaming, and then just as suddenly, the pain was gone. He stared blindly at the ceiling, panting, and became aware of hands on his chest. Hands that had been massaging life back into his body, bringing back enough for magic, pure powerful magic born of true love, to do the rest. He could see traces dissipating, cascading away, leaving him whole. 

He looked at the hands that had saved him. Small hands. Over his heart. One of them had a ring on. Rose’s ring. Belle’s ring. He lifted a trembling hand to touch it, tracing the fine, woven gold. “I dropped it,” he rasped. His throat felt bone dry.

“I found it.” Her voice was the sweetest sound imaginable. “It’s mine.”

Rumpelstiltskin tilted his head to look at her. Rose. No. There were tears in her eyes and she was smiling, and her features were softer, somehow, less afraid, less sharp. “Belle?” he heard his voice crack, and somehow, he had the strength to sit up, to pull her into his arms, to hold her as tightly as he could. “Belle…”

He felt her hands fist in his jacket, holding him just as tightly as he was holding her, and she half-laughed, half-sobbed. “I was halfway to the well when I remembered,” she whispered against his shoulder. 

“You did it?”

She drew back and looked up at him, smiling through her tears. “You asked me to save you,” she said, lifting her hand to his cheek. “How could I refuse?”

He brought his hands up to frame her face, tracing every feature with his fingertips, and she closed her eyes, releasing a soft, shivering sigh. “Belle, what I did…”

“You were cursed,” she said, opening those bright blue eyes of hers and looking at him. She gazed at him, and there was the wit, the cleverness, “But not all the time, I think.” She brushed his tears from his cheek with her fingertips. “You came back to me.” She laughed shakily. “You saved me too.”

“Belle…” He drew her back into his arms, holding her closer, burying his face in her hair. “I thought you were dead once. I couldn’t let you be dead again. I couldn’t let you go, not again, not ever.”

She smoothed his hair, over and over. “I promised you forever, Rumpelstiltskin,” she said softly in his ear. “What was it you said, dearie? Nobody breaks a deal with you?”

He laughed, but it turned into a half-sob. “Gods, I’ve missed you.” He pulled back and looked at her, her face that was no longer Rose’s. “You were there, but not, and it wasn’t ever you, but it was.” He pressed his brow to hers. “I love you. I _love_ you.”

She smiled, all bright eyes and his beauty. “And I love you too,” she said. She brought her left hand down and looked at the ring. “You know I’m keeping this, don’t you?”

His smile made his face ache. “It’s where it belongs,” he agreed. “Mrs Gold.”

The joy that lit her face made his chest ache all over again, but for much better reasons. “Is that a proposal?” she asked, her voice breathless.

Rumpelstiltskin looked at her, the woman he had loved and lost and regained despite everything, and said without hesitation or fear or doubt, “You know, I think it is.”

She reached for him, then hesitated, “Can I…?”

His lips twitched and for a moment, he felt like his old self. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

For all that she was Belle again, when she kissed him, all her experience and knowledge as Rose was there too, and soon it wasn’t just kissing. The shop floor was dusty and littered with debris from a hundred lives, but there was no place he would have rather been.

They lay together on the floor, as daylight warmed the room, in a tangled heap.

“Well,” Belle said with a blush, “that was new.”

He tugged a curl of her hair. “Not regretting it already?” he asked.

“Never,” she replied with a smile, propping her chin on his chest. “Forever, remember. That includes the splinters in my arse.” She sighed softly, tracing a fingertip over the fresh lovebite over his heart. “The Queen isn’t going to let things lie, is she?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t our war, until she brought you into it,” he said. “You should never have been a weapon.”

She nodded. “Well, it’s our war now,” she said, “and we have lots to do.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm.” She poked him firmly in the chest. “You have to speak to my father.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her. “Is that why you saved me?” he asked wryly. “Death would have been merciful compared to a father and an unwanted suitor.”

Belle smiled at him. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll protect you.”

“A human shield,” he said with a teasing smirk on his face. “Yes. You’ll do. I’m not a large man, after all.”

She swatted him, giggling. “Stop it,” she said. “I’d like him to know. To understand.”

His expression softened. “He’s your father, after all,” he said. “There’s worth there.”

She leaned down and kissed him softly. “I’m glad you think so,” she said, running her finger along his chin, “because once we’re done here, we’re going to find your son.”

The End


End file.
